The other day I sat at a café in my active wear while working on my laptop.

It sounds pretty glamorous, and that’s because it was. There’s nothing more #lifegoals about smashing out some work after dropping some mean squats at the gym while refuelling The Truth (my body).

Except my work was a yarn about how I bought a hat.

And my version of active wear is oversized free t-shirts I’ve obtained over the years, three-year-old sneakers what have holes where my buggy little toes stick out and these snot green leggings my friend was going to throw away when she moved overseas. My gym bag is this bucket drawstring number that has one strap tied to the other strap because it broke off one day. It’s merch from a regional footy team, so it looks like I have some mildly-talented footy boyfriend who is letting me borrow his gear after I “spent the night” (i.e. we totally banged after a big night at da clubz) at his place last night. But in reality I once went to a party in Warwick and when I woke up I found it on the boot of my Camry so I snagged it – it seemed like the right thing to do.

And coffee makes me kind of sick in the tummy so I had tea. Coffee isn’t really as great as Gilmore Girls made me believe, which breaks my heart a little. But apparently Alexis Bledel, who plays Rory, hated the stuff too, so they filled her cup with a dark soda when filming. And that girl was in TWO films about magical jeans and female friendship, so she knows what she’s doing.

And my work briefcase was actually a carpet tote bag with several-dozen cat faces embroidered into it that I bought from my local op shop.

But otherwise I was so totally a freelancing babe nourishing my mind and body. Like a modern-day Carrie Bradshaw without literally any of her fancy things. I felt like I was one of those Instagram accounts run by a childless successwoman who isn’t afraid to take care of herself. In fact, I could have taken a pretty decent #workwork table top flat lay had my phone camera not been smashed a year ago (the lack of lenses makes for a blurry picture and while the front-facing camera still works, it means I have to put the phone into selfie mode and then point the screen at the subject of the photo – this method does not often bode winning results).

But nonetheless, it made me feel like some kind of powerful businesswoman. Which I guess I am.

Powerful: in my own mind. Businesswoman: technically.

Because while I may wear jazz-ballet shoes in the workplace I’ve got an Australian Business Number. I’ve written an invoice. I went on the Australian Taxation Office website and watched several short instructional videos.

I have to make big decisions for my business. For example, I have to decide if I want to continue keeping my business supplies in the catbag, or if I should switch locations to the dinosaur tote bag I bought from a recent trip to the museum. The catbag has a thick, protective fabric, but the tote bag has a T-Rex on the front and says “totes”. You can see my dilemma here.

And sure, my business supplies may very well be four highlighters and a free pen I was given by a member of my former trivia team, but that doesn’t mean I’m not legit.

I trade my words for dollars. Someone actually exchanged legal Australian currency to print details about my vomit spraying all over my steering wheel. I don’t know exactly how that happened, but it did. I have the invoice as proof. I’m not saying that this lifestyle is particularly sustainable (it’s really not) but it’s nice to know I live in a world where that it’s a reality.

Sure, I may make waaaay less than the GST threshold (there literally aren’t enough As in the universe to emphasis how far away I am from making any real money with my enterprise). But at least if someone asks for my occupation, I’m able to say that I’m a freelance writer.

And, more importantly, my ABN means I can now go to a wholesale distributer and purchase bulk quantities of clouds and strawberry ears.