Caterwauling

Hmm.

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?

My dear friend SilverBlue said something on Facebook last night that I not only retweeted, but I want to repeat here for future reference.

It was that if others would spend more time improving their own performance than telling others how they can improve theirs, so much more would get done.

Made me think of the Ghandi quote that you must be the change you want to see in the world. Good point.

Don’t get me wrong — if you can help people to achieve their goals (or the company’s goals because isn’t that what makes the world go ’round? Who gives a shit about your goals?), it’s your job to help them.

Otherwise, it’s like hiring someone as an editor, then getting mad when they spend 75% of their time focused on improving the editorial and educating the writers so they turn in better copy in the first place. And then getting madder that your list of unrelated goals that the person was never equipped to handle, and that you don’t INTEND to equip the person to handle, doesn’t get achieved according to your vision or on your time schedule.

Not that THAT has ever happened to me. Oh, no. 😉

And I *never* wondered about others’ contributions unless they reported to me. But now that I think about it, WTF *did* other people contribute other than a demonic presence that feasts on souls?

Ahem.

Same thing happens to me at home. I’ve been doing fine with the houseguest, despite being together 24/7 for the past three months. But yesterday I just wanted to kill myself. Because it’s another case of someone being so focused on what I’m doing (or what I’m NOT doing, or not doing RIGHT) to help them that I thought, hey, maybe if you focus on your shit and I focus on mine, I won’t be in a bad mood all the time. How about that?

Yeah, keep dreaming. That’s like waiting for people to pull their head out of their butts and get their priorities straight in the office. Never dreamed I’d get canned for improving editorial and mentoring staff. But hey, now I spend my days immersed in writing, so life has gone on just peachily.

Anyway, I figure God stepped in when it came to saving my career. He’s welcome anytime He wants to contribute to the home situation. Meanwhile, I’m just using everything I’ve ever experienced and channeling it into a book series.

The funny thing about my book series is that a ton of stuff I wrote as early as 1988 has come true, like I predicted the future or destiny really does manifest itself. So last night in my notes, I killed off a whole bunch of asshole characters at fairly young (like 40-ish) ages. Is it too optimistic to keep an eye on the obituaries just for fun? 😉