Hello. My name’s Tiernan. I’m 32 years old though without beard I look considerably younger until you look into my eyes and realise I scowl at more of the world than a youthful person would do. With beard I look about 32. That’s why I have a beard. Amongst other reasons. I’m here, writing to you today, to confess that I have a problem. I am a workaholic. I’m sure some of you have heard that and feel an entire lack of sympathy towards this condition of mine. Some of you may feel that complaining about working too much is akin to a very rich person weeping that they’ve run out of things to buy with all that annoying money they have. I understand that. At a time where work is generally scarce, I’m telling you that I work too much and it’s an issue. Some of you may applaud it, if you have fallen for the increasingly tiresome government rhetoric that we are a nation of ‘skivers’. A view that comes from over paid MPs who get an extremely long summer holiday and are spending their time delegating all their responsibilities to private companies. Hmm.
But I’m proud to say that as I type this unnecessary blog at 21.30 on a Sunday evening while at the same time thinking of things to tweet, and checking my email for responses to an admin email I had to send out, that yes, it is a problem. This week just gone was meant to be my week off. One gig, one writing job, two castings (both of which required learning lines), two meetings, a shedload of emails, a friend’s (very lovely) wedding and a vast amount of time trying to get back work I’d lost on the laptop some arsehole burglars had stolen, later, (breathe now) I realise once again I’ve failed at relaxing. Add to that a trip to Ikea that I did willingly and you could say it was very much the opposite of relaxing. It was ‘rolling 24 hour news coverage.’ Which is probably the exact opposite of relaxing. Especially if its Sky News. I had tried to have a week off this week because my first designated week off since January was meant to be the week before. That too, was filled with work.
Herein lies the rub of self employment. The weeks where there isn’t work, you are so concerned you don’t have work that you do lots of work trying to get work. Then when there is work you are so concerned that you’ll lose the pace and end up with a week of no work working to get work, that you do the work. Work. Worky. Workington. As a result I’ve had one week’s holiday in 3 years, wherein me and L spent everyday going on tours till we were exhausted. We’d then head back to the hotel with free wifi and I’d do work. Work. Work. Work. Work. Work. Work. Explode. Spend time catching up on all the work you missed when you exploded. Essentially the only days I’ve really had away from work this year were the two days after my phone was stolen and the end of last week when my laptop had been pinched. It has got to the point where I have to be a victim of crime in order to justify to myself that I can relax for an hour or two. These are only minor reparable crimes too. I think the only way I may have a much needed two week holiday is if I’m (un)lucky enough to be a victim of murder. Even then I’d worry that I’d probably back as a zombie just to reply to any emails I’d missed.
So yes, it is a problem. All I really really want right now is a holiday. A holiday somewhere very far away, without wifi, without anyone to talk to (except L of course) and no reason or pressure to even check my phone. Having looked at Googlemaps I’ve realised the only place I could go that would fulfil all this criteria is the Moon. Sadly I don’t have time to get the appropriate gear for that or do any of the training needed, due to having all this work on. Of course if I did manage to get there, I’d be bored within 20 minutes due to a huge lack of work to do and would probably try to work out the logistics of doing a gig there. Though I have heard shows up there have a very odd atmosphere. So, all in all, its an incurable condition. Why am I telling you then? Well, partly, its a cry for help. A hope someone out there has some clever way of telling me to actually have a nap for once or sit down and watch something mindless on TV without the intention of tweeting about it. Its partly that. Mostly its because I’ve done all the work I can do today and was getting itchy fingers and a restless brain. Sigh.
Anyone know any murderers for hire?