The Magic, Jagged Little Pill

I’m addicted now.
I don’t know how I could go back to work for someone else. I’m not an entrepreneur, just own a successful business; but I hear a phrase regularly that draws irritation from somewhere within my ribs, “So, you work for yourself?”
No. I work for my clients. Whereas you have a single boss (or a single supervisor in the next tier of the food chain), I work for a dozens pf bosses—more than a handful at a time. I’ve got to remember who prefers what, how they communicate, and what “urgent” means to each one. It’s a juggling act—eight times crazier than the professor parade at college.
So, I take my vacations around my bosses’ schedules—even though their busy seasons are my favorite times of the year to travel and absorb nature. I eat, sleep, and exercise around my bosses’ deadlines. My niche honks as my golden goose, and I try to keep the nest comfortable.
If I am my own boss, then I am the worse boss I’ve ever had. I get in my employee’s head—chiding him for his inability to concentrate, his lack of efficiency, his personal time sneaked into office hours, his verbal miscues. He can’t go anywhere in his house to escape me or my shadow. He typically has to leave cell phone reception—some times for days—to escape my task lists.
I am his greatest benefactor and toughest critic. I keep him employed and make him wish he weren’t. I sound like a conscience, a father, a genie.
So, you’re driven. Your inner self would do the same if you were an employee. I’m at a convention of auctioneers as I write this, and my old boss is here. He can verify: I wasn’t like this at my old job. I worked hard, cared about the company intrinsically, and flourished with awards. I earned great bonuses for my diligence. But now that my office is my workshop and my company has my name on it . . . something has changed.
I am an efficiency hound. I typically invoice by the project—not by the hour. So, the faster I work (1) the more I make an hour and (2) the fewer hours I need to work to maintain the six-figure annual revenue into which BiPlane has grown. Back at my old company, I was trying to accrue hours, especially overtime. I found work to keep me busy rather than finding ways to eliminate busy work. I was stealing from my free time and my employer to make the money I thought I deserved.
As with a comic super hero or emergency doctor, my God-given talents prove both a blessing and a curse. I can save auctioneers with deadline crises; it’s hard to refuse rescue. Time is money, and I am well rewarded for the speed of my response. So, I’m not complaining. I can afford bungy jumping expeditions because I can meet newspaper deadlines in multiple states on 3 hours’ sleep.
I just don’t swallow much employee bilge about how business owners have it made. They wouldn’t have a job unless someone like me made one for them.