End of an era

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

Well, happy birthday, Goddess. Since 36 basically fucked goats, I’m declaring a do-over and NOT aging another year but, instead, trying to get it right this time.

I’ve been rather grumpy lately with my freelance life. Don’t get me wrong, I like it. I love the freedom and the flexibility and the ability to disappear if you’re just not in the mood today.

But it doesn’t pay, it’s hard and you still have to deal with what passes for personalities sometimes. Just because you did the work, doesn’t mean a check will come … whether because the company doesn’t HAVE the money or else they’re exerting some kind of fucked-up “control” over you and choosing not to pay. I hate that shit.

And then there are the Twuntzilla types out there who promise to leave you alone on your birthday but who, alas, do NOT give you that lovely gift and continue to haunt you with incoherence and bossiness all at once. Maybe I could follow a directive if I UNDERSTOOD IT. Not that it pays for more than a week of rent anyway, but still.

I’ve been kind of “meh” the past couple weeks anyway over work and birthday. I hate birthdays in general because it reminds me how, I dunno, USELESS everyone and everything is. You think of all the people you’ve basically celebrated, helped or otherwise did shit for during the past year, and then you note their absence on your so-called special day. Or you get words.

I don’t need words. Well, I guess I do because I love Facebook on my high holy holiday. But then everybody retreats back into their hole and you’re left to your own devices once again.

Imma gonna quit while I’m ahead here, yo.

But I’ve got to DO something about this career of mine. I sincerely love working with one group, but I don’t know how “big” the job or money is going to get. (Not big enough for right now, I don’t think. But maybe someday.)

With another, I am capable of so much more than what I’m doing. I’m expensive because I’m GREAT. And I can be dicking around with dumb shit or I could be running the company. And we all know which I’d RATHER be doing. But fine, keep the brains in your operation hidden. Wouldn’t be the first time.

And with still another, it doesn’t pay enough. And that’s saying something, given the eau de desperation I’ve dabbed on these past couple of weeks. Talking to the person makes me want to die of boredom, and for pennies per word, without a guaranteed minimum words, I’m not inclined to open my e-mails in a timely manner. Another job I can do without the point of contact.

A few friends and I have a “mastermind” session planned for tomorrow. I think we’re going to come up with the million-dollar idea within 10 minutes of convening. I really do.

I just hope I don’t have to go back to a proper job in the meantime. But it’s looking that way. And that is NOT the way to earn what I want, or what I’m worth. But maybe I have to sell my soul once more to buy me the time I need to make “Project Next,” whatever that may be, profitable.

I’m gonna own your ass, World. And I’m gonna do it by the THIRD time I turn 36, I promise you!

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