September 30, 2011 § Leave a comment
My first 1st without the safety net of my other paycheck is rapidly approaching, and I am starting to freak out a little. I had to unexpectedly pay for two months’ worth of school recently, as well as regular-maintenance-but-still-gouging stuff for my car. Oh, and I selfishly decided to get my two inches of roots re-highlighted today rather than wait it out because let’s be honest, if my hair looks bad I feel ugly and fat. Yes, bad hair makes me feel fat; don’t worry about it. Also my hairdresser has a three week waiting period but she’s super cool and I desperately want her to be my friend, so, brand loyalty.
So yeah, I’m bleeding money this month, but here’s the worst part. Remember that list I made in the beginning, about all the the things I don’t want to repeat? Yeah. I’m breaking a big one. I’m currently working for free in one case, and paycheck-don’t-even-cover-gas in another.
I know, please don’t hit me.
Mr. B has made well-known his displeasure with my decision to jump with both feet into doing all* the things I swore I’d never do again for the last time this time for sure I promise. But what do you do, when you’re working with people you care deeply about who you know aren’t holding out on you, that they would give it if they had it? What do you do when you finally, finally, FINALLY read a script that moves you in ways you haven’t felt since college, but the production meetings are an hour from your house? How much does “learning” or “networking” or hell, “experiencing” and “making the art you want to” supplant income? If you have the answer, I would love to hear it.
Being deficit in money is a major issue. But being deficit in time is a slow soul-suck that I’m not ready to jump back into just yet. I’m looking at you, dear friend from my tech writing days who keeps dangling a really well paying full time tech writing job in my face. That’s not something to complain about in the current economic climate, I know. But I had a job I resented for two years, and it made me feel more spoiled and ungrateful to have one I couldn’t care less about when others who wanted it so much more didn’t have one. So I mean, no lectures please, anonymous.
My current plan of action is to actually send my overhire resume out to every costume shop I know of, and to actually get my website and Etsy shop off the ground. I say “actually” because, let’s be real for a minute, I’m generally heavy on the plan and light on the action. I shall make no other plans until those three are carried out, lest this ideas woman get carried away with herself again, as always, forever and ever, amen.
*Not all… I eat very little cous cous these days. One too many forkfuls found their way up my sinus cavity and I actually learned a lesson**.
**I know. It’s hard for me to believe, too.
September 23, 2011 § Leave a comment
This morning I got up and drove to Laurel to sort and label costumes at a business I may one day own and operate, and this evening I was in Glen Echo to attend the first (AMAZING) read through for the third production of a new theater company run by my friends.
Right. THAT’S why I quit the comfort of my day job.
September 22, 2011 § Leave a comment
Here is something true about me: I hate to clean.
Scratch that, reword it. Scrubbing, sweeping, mopping, vacuuming, with all that I am fine. I hate to tidy. As much as I mind filth and smelliness, I could happily step over clutter piles for the rest of my life and never know I was living any differently or worse off than anyone else.
As it happens, the boyfriend, who will henceforth be called Mr. B because I’m tired of writing out the boyfriend, has been trapped in the house with me for several days due to an ingrown toenail*. And here’s the thing. If it was up to him, Mr. B would live a spartan existence: bed, computer, couch, tv (with gaming system.) No tables, no chairs, no shelves, NO CLUTTER. It is a true testament of his love for me that we have been together as long as we have, and I have never come home to a gutted house with all my (thousands of) belongings on the front lawn, Clean House style. That may or may not have something to do with the fact that we have never had a front lawn on which to toss belongings (and he does not know who Niecy Nash is), but that’s neither here nor there.
What is here AND there is the fact that I am now home for many, many more hours of the day. And I am considerably more broke. And when cheerleading and encouraging me to quit my crappy day job once and for all, Mr. B said the immortal words, “…and at this point I would honestly rather have a clean house than more money toward the mortgage every month.” And I agreed because let’s be honest, at this moment in my development the poor guy can’t have both.
So I agreed to be a house[domestic partner], and, this past week or so, I have not been holding up my end of the deal. It’s not a feminist issue, it’s a partnership issue. I know I don’t pull my weight. But here’s the other thing.
I don’t know what happens to me when I’m asked to clean up**. Suddenly this strong, ambitious woman is reduced to a whining, blubbering mess of vinegar and tantrum. I am known to actually throw myself on the bed or floor in a fit of drama when asked to pick up the scrapbooking materials I cleverly(?) hid under the coffee table. I know it’s awful, and ugly, and very very trying, but this is confessional time. If left to my own devices I will eventually clean up my clutter (because even I have a limit.) But if I’m (very nicely) asked to do it before I have deemed myself emotionally ready, I’m suddenly a five-year old who DOES NOT LIKE BROCCOLI.
I think it has everything to do with the severe lack of self-discipline I was talking about yesterday, and the amount that I meet my own want to be better with DON’T WANNA is sometimes overwhelming. As you can probably tell, I have done nothing as of yet to correct my past sins and move toward my future want to change. I know what I need to do, and yet I’m at a loss as to how to force myself to do it when I just really, really, really don’t want to. Sometimes I would rather be punched in the face than answer an email or write up a cover letter*** or move a box to a different room. I’m not even sure where to start. I don’t have a nice, neat little ending to this post, because I’m almost as frustrated with myself as Mr. B is right now. Maybe that will finally push me over the line into accountability, but I guess we’ll see. Baby steps, right?
Instead, I will leave you with a relevant-ish peek into domestic life with me and Mr. B:
B-But I guess if I’m going to be a housewife I should do the duties of a housewife… Except I’m not a houseweife I’m a domestic partner.
Mr.B- You are not domestic. You are feral.
*which I know is super painful, but so gross. he obviously insisted on showing me pictures of its removal.
**my own mess. always.
***actually I would rather be stabbed in the thigh with one of those huge restaurant-grade dinner forks than write a cover letter, but that’s a post for another day
September 21, 2011 § Leave a comment
I have spent WAY too much money this week. All on being social. Ram’s Head, Melting Pot, Public Bar, Guapo’s… those establishments should not be in such close proximity on my bank statement. And yet there they are. Mocking me. Reminding me of how much I DON’T regret hanging out and laughing with the people I love. But also how quickly the first comes every month.
I’ll admit it, I have forgotten how to be broke. When I was a tech writer, it was like a food and going-out bonanza all the time. We hate our jobs, let’s escape to lunch! Happy hour? Great idea! Already went out twice this week? We’re only young once! I know in my head that I can’t do that anymore, or at least not with the zeal and frequency as once before, but I don’t want to have to face it.
Last time I freelanced, I was so broke I was consistently one to two hundred dollars short on the rent. I never planned anything and ran out of money immediately, and when all our friends would go out, I would join them and do my best to not look hungry. Someone usually took pity on me and would buy me a drink or an appetizer, but that made me feel worse.*
The most important (and time-sensitive) lesson I need to learn is discipline. If I’m going to splurge, I have to know that that is my splurge for the month. If I’m going to sleep in, I need to know that that is my day to sleep in for the week. My self-induced structure is currently a house of cards, and that ain’t gonna fly come rent day.
*Though never bad enough to refuse it more than once. Mama’s not that proud.
September 20, 2011 § Leave a comment
I got up at 10am today.
Don’t laugh, it’s an hour earlier than what has become usual.
September 19, 2011 § Leave a comment
I’m happier now than I have been in a very, very long time.
September 19, 2011 § Leave a comment
Hi, hello. I know, and I’m sorry.
In the past four weeks or so my life has changed dramatically in exactly the way that this blog was set up to capture, so obviously I did nothing to actually capture it as such. In a burst of can-do energy, I applied to a part time house management position at a local theater, and got it. Still not planning on actually quitting the hated/loved/hated day job, I had to be convinced that this was, in fact, a sign that I am, in fact, ready to move on and actually pursue my dreams (thanks boyfriend.) So I did it.
My team lead generally came in several hours after I did, so I had to sit there for most of the day while my heart raced along. My work girlfriends did what they could to keep me calm, but I was still not totally convinced quitting now was the right choice, and also holy crap I was about to just walk out on two years at my first “real” job. He finally came in; I asked to speak with him privately. I skittered to a conference room, whirled around to face him with my shaking, sweating, beet red self, and stammered that I had been offered a job at a theater. I shoved my two weeks’ notice at him and waited for his response.
I don’t know what I expected. He didn’t slap me. He didn’t rip up my resignation. He didn’t say, “You can’t quit YOU’RE FIRED.” He was super nice, and said I would be missed. Then we went back to our desks, probably because he could see that my knees were about three words from buckling. My heart raced for the rest of the day.
Two weeks flew by, in which I was trained in my new job and wrapped up my old. My work friends took me out to celebrate my departure, and I acted the requisite hot mess. On my last day, I spent about an hour fighting back a panic attack, and ultimately had to run out the door so I wouldn’t burst into tears and be all the wrong kinds of hot mess. And then it was September, and oh yeah we didn’t mention the fact that the new part time job is between shows so I had four shifts this month.
Oh. My b. But I decided it was a good thing (I had to) and decided to finish and put up all my shiz I’ve been trying to get started (website, etsy store, sending resumes out for overhire, etc.) for a year and just never did it. And I was really really good for the first day or so.
And then I got used to sleeping in, WAY too quickly. And the boyfriend works 3-11p so it actually takes effort to make myself work when he and Mad Men on Netflix Watch Instantly are so tantalizingly close by. And so I floundered in the motivation department, and gained 8 pounds, which pretty much brings us to today.
For example, it is 2:25pm on Monday and I have not yet put on a bra. I have an excuse, but it makes me look worse: I am waiting for the laundry cycle to finish because I am completely out of clean underwear. So yeah. I need a schedule. I am what they say, a great boss and a terrible employee.
So that’s my goal this week: make myself a schedule, and actually stick with it. Blogging will be part of this schedule, because it’s important. Not only to you, my zero readers, but to me, because I am the kind of person who has to express herself or she gets all jumbled inside and then REALLY nothing gets done.
First thing’s first, I’ve got to go see a man about a bra.