Dancy little fingers

I'm in a chatty mood tonight. That may very well be because it's Sunday, and Sunday in Augsburg means Biscuits à la Rube, and Grits au Fromage. Such breakfasts are good starts to any day, even when served at 4:30 in the afternoon, in filthy pajamas.

So, what shall we talk about? Let's talk about the weather. In a cruel turn of fate, the weather finally got warm the week after the kids went back to school. Fuck 'em. Treats them right for living in the arctic circle. Move back to the world, kids, there's sunshine and hurricanes.

Ok, that's the weather. Let's talk shop. I got a steady gig now, which doesn't take much time, and doesn't pay all that badly. I'm self-employed, so whenever a steady source of income shows up, it's always welcome. It doesn't quite make up for the 2 and half months of project work that I just did for which I didn't get paid, but it makes telling certain customers to go fuck themselves that much easier.

I actually worked for one customer for up to 60 hours a week for the last two months. Even though I relaxed my normally-exorbitant hourly rates for the sake of customer relations, the bills are running up into the tens of thousands. Thing is, I haven't seen a dime of that money yet, and the way things are looking further upstream, I don't think I'll ever see any of the money. The other party, who's basically doing sales for the project while I do the work, has decided that almost all of the customers we've been servicing like overworked whores lately are 'Reference Customers', who will be useful down the road for bringing in other customers, and therefore won't get billed. Which means I won't see any money from them at all. Which means I'm pretty much figuring out whether or not spending time in the big house is worth the ass-whipping I'd like to lay on my salesman. Still too close to call.