Tuesday, January 11, 2005

I Don't Wanna Sleep Through Life

I'm trying to get my life back together. At least I'm awake through the whole day-- both physically and mentally. Finally. Sleeping through my life is not really what I want to do.

I was offered this job opportunity today-- which is good since I've been unemployed for three months-- and it's a lousy job, but I'm just looking for something to tide me over until ... until... until I have a baby? Until I find a real job? Until writing takes over and I can make money with that???? Until something starts working right? I basically just need money right now. I don't have anything. I'm on an allowance. Not really, but I have to ask Sean everytime I need to refill my metro card or get a carton of milk. Not a situation I like. Not a situation I've been in since I was fourteen. I can't believe I've been able to go this long without bringing in even a little bit of money. Then again I was pretty near comatose for most of it.

Here I am, sick of being poor, yearning to be able to go shopping again or at least go sit in a cafe and write on my laptop, and I am actually considering taking this job.

So what's the big deal about the job? Well, first of all, the job is as a mail sorter. Woo hoo. Exciting. But then, that's not such a big deal-- sitting around for a while being mindless. It's not taxing. Make a little money. Go shopping. Fine. So where's the problem? Aside from pride?

Problem-- I would be sorting mail for a porn company.

I don't know how I feel about that. On the negative side-- ick. And the fact that I'm a feminist and as a feminist I kind of have a problem with most porn. Then I can't get over that it really doesn't pay that much. Three negatives.

On the plus side-- a little money is better than no money, it's a kooky job description to add to my list of life long jobs, and then, I don't know what it could lead into-- not that I want to get into porn, but, you never can tell what doors can be opened by taking a chance.

If I get a real job, I'll never commit to doing something as scary as being a real writer. I'll always get busy with whatever requirements my job asks of me. And thinking that in six months I'm gonna have a baby to commit to... I've got to do this thing, this writing thing, or it won't ever happen. I don't know if I can live with my ambition-- my dream for the last twenty years-- folding and collapsing around me just because I didn't make an effort.

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