I hate it when life happens and upsets my plans. It always seems so hard to get going again. I got sick right after that last post, and only in the last week felt well again. During that time, I did a lot of thinking (though as always, it was somewhat muddled by fever and much coughing).
I’m having a lot of misgivings about quitting my department store job, even though I hated it. I was used to that steady paycheck, regardless of how small. I couldn’t have lived on it, but it didn’t feel like I was freeriding off my husband, either. I don’t have that anymore. Yes, I’m doing some freelance advertising work, and working as the customer service/editorial assistant for a small magazine. But it’s not much. And it bothers me. Yes, we spend less on eating out when I stay at home, because I cook more. The apartment stays nicer. I have enough hobbies to do and books to read to keep me busy for decades. Right now I’m studying like mad for the three tests I have left for school, and that will keep me busy until the end of this month. So it’s not that I’m unhappy, but rather that I feel guilty.
After school is done, I’m going to have a lot of free time on my hands. We’re planning to move in the spring. I’ll probably be looking for a full time job of some sort. That’s where the guilt comes in…because I don’t want to. I don’t want a regular job again. Maybe I got burned through a year of dept. store work, but I don’t want to be on someone else’s time schedule and service standard. Ever again. And I hate, hate the idea of going to work at a job that bores me, that isn’t making a real difference to anyone. But why shouldn’t I? Why shouldn’t I have to, when my husband has worked jobs that he hates ever since he finished high school? He always says it’s a means to an end, that he’s paying his dues to society. He hates it, but it’s only a matter of time. I know that. It would be the same for me. I know that in my head, but it makes me want to cry when I think about it. Am I just lazy?
I would love to have a pile of writing assignments due to various editors right now. The thing is, I hate trying to “sell myself” to editors and being rejected. Yes, I know. It’s part of a writer’s life, that pile of rejection letters. That doesn’t make it any easier to deal with. So how many queries have I sent out?
None. Well, I did contact the subject for an article I would like to write, and was granted permission. But I have yet to contact an editor about that idea or any other. I’m scared.
I’ve come to realize in the past few months that I’m an artist at heart. Almost everything I do and enjoy is creating something or helping stir my creative juices – writing, knitting, spinning, baking, reading, hiking, even horseback riding. I hate being forced into a set schedule. I like being spontaneous. At the same time, I’m cautious. I know we have to eat and have a roof over our heads. I know money doesn’t grow on trees. We only have any extra money right now because my dear husband works all the overtime he can get and doesn’t spend a lot. It bothers me that as it is, I can’t support myself right now, I don’t have any skills that would land me a job with that sort of pay.
Maybe if I really worked on the freelance thing, I could make a decent amount of money. After all, some people do. But WHY does everything have to come down to money? I hate money. So many decisions in my life have been made based on how much it would cost to do something, including where, when, and how I went to school, where we live, what jobs we have, and on and on. I hate it. Why? I know we’re not the only ones. Why is our society set up so that only the rich can afford to take time out from their lives and study for years? Oh, we could have – but we would have been tens of thousands of dollars in debt. It makes me so angry.
I guess that was all to say, I need to work harder on this freelance thing.

