You know when you have one of those days? The kind where you realize too late that there is a hole in your dog's poo bag and that kind of sets the stage for the rest of the day? The kind where you almost put salsa on your English muffin and peanut butter rather than strawberry jam? The kind where they shut off the water to your office building so that a trip to the bathroom involves a coat, a brisk sprint across the parking lot and two badges? The kind where you look out into the great abyss and see everyone that you know is moving forward with their lives whilst you are standing in the freezing cold, staring stupidly at the dog poo on your hand?
Yep, it's that kind of a Monday. Or rather I guess it technically is Tuesday. I always get mixed up with long weekends. Especially long weekends where I spend my day off writing articles, cleaning the house, trying to work on my resume, and glumly looking at more rejection notices from job applications where I never made it beyond the initial resume phase (hence the working on the resume).
And then you find out your oldest friend in the world, the one who agreed to marry you at the age of 5 if you were both really old (like 30) and weren't married, has a kid. Not just has a kid but has a daughter who is nearly 2 years old. And extremely adorable. For some reason, this knowledge has kind of struck me dumbfounded. I am literally sitting here, slack-jawed and incoherent. Not because I thought the now 30 year old contract (!!!) was still valid but because I had no idea that he had become a father.
It doesn't help that I have let my financial advisor (he is wonderfully competent and adorable when he tries to explain things to me and my eyes glaze over and I start to doodle) talk me out of quitting my job with no actual other job lined up. Then again, the sensible part of me--the one that tries to eat something more than pudding for dinner and go to bed early rather than watching old episodes of the West Wing--knew that this was what he was going to advise and that is probably why I went to see him before leaping off into the abyss.
He made some good points though and not just about how it's nice to be able to afford my mortgage and my dog's organic dog food. He said he can see that I'm serious about writing and that if that's what I want to do, that's what I should do. But that until I can convince someone to pay me a living wage doing that writing, that I should try to find a work environment that I enjoy and that will free me up for more time for the lovely writing. Although this makes sense, I'm kind of afraid that if I don't try it now, I'll never do it. Pull the band-aid off all in one fell swoop, jump without a safety net, etc.
The other thing that has me slightly bamboozled is that I was supposed to talk with my client tonight about the 2nd book I was going to write for him (whilst I'm still working on chapters for another book for him) and was nervous since when he and I spoke last, he asked if I was going to want to give him rights to all content. I was nervous because I didn't really want to do that but I do like working for him and didn't want things to be highly awkward.
Anyway, he started off the conversation by saying that he thinks I should write and publish the book myself. That it was my idea and he said it felt like he'd be taking my baby. He said he thought it would be a fun book and do well, then he gave me some advice and we chatted about his experiences in self-publishing and writing. Of course as soon as we hung up, self-doubt set in and I became convinced that he doesn't want to be involved in the book because he thinks it will be crap.
On that inspiring note, I better call it a night as it is a before-crack-o-dawn type day for me tomorrow. If you haven't gotten enough about me ranting about gender inequality (and how could that ever be possible), check out my latest article on The Snap Download and learn of my plans for making men wear more complicated outfits (cravats, hats and more!) so that we can hear reporters reduce them to their wardrobes and hairstyles rather than just hearing ad nauseum about the First Lady's bangs. You can also read an article where one of my fellow bloggers will teach you a fun new phrase in French.
So bonne nuit, mes amis. I'm feeling not so sensible and there's plenty of West Wing season 3 for me to still get thru.
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