Making a life


I was thinking about how much I hate working in general, and I attribute it to being forced to “make a living.”

And while I have a couple of project going, right now there’s really only one I enjoy. Perhaps it’s because the work comes easily to me. And perhaps THAT is because I’ve spent years learning the exact stuff that they need (and pay) me to know.

I was even thinking about billing another client less because I haven’t been able to give them the time commitment I agreed to. Which I could compensate for easily by doing a kickass job (and putting in the hours, well, after hours). But meh. I’m undecided there.

I do want to kick my own ass for that — I need to work my butt off now to prepare for leaner times, right? For when the next idiot employer wakes up with their tampon in the wrong hole and decides that my cheerful face has to go. And believe me, nobody likes scrimping and praying for the next check any less than I do.

But it lies in the new debate in my head, making a living versus making a LIFE.

Now, I really should be trying to make every available dime now if I expect to make a life. I get that. But I’ve sacrificed so much quality of life over the years — whether intentionally or circumstantially — that I’m just pretty much over spending any portion of my day feeling like I’m in prison or simply pandering for a paycheck I know I’m more than worthy of receiving.

Things have been challenging at home these past few days. I keep hearing how mean and nasty and snippy and horrible and terrible and hateful and awful I am. And sure, I have my moments. But as I finally exploded today, does the houseguest really think she’s a fucking joy to live with? Am I supposed to be honored to be the one responsible with keeping a roof over her head for the rest of her life? When do I get a goddamn break already?

And she was most floored at me asking for a break. (Good. Lord.) I said come on already — this is like an arranged marriage. Who the fuck is supposed to spend this much time with anyone, let alone someone they never chose to?

(It’s an ongoing debate over choice here — she always says I told her I “wanted her.” OMG, kill kill kill. And if I did, which hah, did I sign up for five years to life? It’s a sentence, not a choice.)

Like, right now, I need to go to Apple to pick up some software. I could order it but my landlady keeps my packages hostage and loses them. (I love it here.) So I could order online or else I could take the ride. But I have to report my whereabouts at all times, and wait till Princess gets ready because she won’t leave the house without me on her own. And if I go somewhere, I have an instant co-pilot, whether I want one or not.

Reminds me of when I was a kid. I was never allowed to stay at home alone. Even when I was 18. I always got dragged alone for the ride.

It also occurs to me that I have been providing for myself — housing, clothing, food, etc. — since I was 18. My houseguest has never paid rent a day in her life, and she tells me I’m mean when I say I need a week off from having her underfoot. Nice, eh?

Anyway, I know too many people with misplaced tampons (or sticky-side-up maxi pads — I never could tell which was their particular problem) read this and get overjoyed at my misery. But damn, I’m actually sitting here NOT going to the store because I don’t want to make it another fucking family event, like every minute of every day already is.

I don’t WANT to be mean, or exasperated, or whatever the adjective of the day is. I want to be happy. Or, at least, not disgusted and frustrated and fucking suicidal. Seriously, I am planning to get a tattoo (of Bon Jovi, of course) since every day is so painful and I’d like to have ONE of those days result in something artistic and lovely.

Anyway, I can’t have work be a stressor right now. I never wanted it to be. And it surprises the fuck out of me that one of my jobs is a fucking joy to behold. I hope my contract gets renewed at that one. I really do. I’m actually trying to find ways to do extra stuff there, as opposed to killing myself to produce the bare minimum in other places.

Not that I want to rely on one income stream. We already learned where that leads you. God forbid you have talent and drive and ambition and ability when people just don’t happen to like you because you’re not as miserable and marginally talented (i.e., at canning people) as they are. I never dreamed I’d find myself out of a job. Seriously. How goddamn stupid ARE people?

Anyway, it’s forced me to focus on making a living. But with that crisis averted (for now), I want the life part. I don’t want anything else that stresses me out like bad jobs and worse home lives do. I know it’s not like I survived a tsunami or anything like that, but haven’t I endured enough … at least for now?

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