Fortress of Suckitude

My life has really been sucking lately.

So, I had a birthday. Which is all well and good. I’m at that age when I’m a “real” adult now (whatever that means), and people are starting to expect me to have my shit together. Have a steady job. Looking at getting a house. Getting married, having kids. Starting a family and getting a 401(k).

Um. Yeah. And I have like, none of that.

Don’t get me wrong, I want some of that stuff. I really do. But like, when I told people, “Oh, it’s my birthday today,” and they, inevitably, asked, “How old are you?” and I answered, they then started asking about my life plans, and future, and telling me how it is all very exciting to be my age, because I finally have it all figured out, yes?

Yeah, no.

And to top it all off into one giant sucky cake? I haven’t been paid in a month.

My boss keeps “forgetting” to pay me. She’s behind two paychecks now, and my bills are ratcheting up to absurd levels and I have no way to pay them. I just…

I just can’t. I can’t really take it anymore.

I love my job. I really love what I do. I feel like I’m good at it. (I hope that I’m good at it). And when I got this job, got some months into it, I started to think “Yeah, I could stay here.” So I got comfortable. I told that little voice in the back of my head that said “You’re pretty much on hourly pay,” and “You don’t really have a promotion available, never mind a raise,” and “It’s such a small firm, she can’t even offer health insurance,” to be quiet. That I liked it there, that I’d fix everything when it came up–until then, I’d just enjoy it.

Well, I’ve enjoyed it. Now it’s not so enjoyable.

But the main problem is that I got comfortable. So comfortable, I haven’t given myself an out. I rely on this job. I can’t just jump ship. I’m going to have to wean myself off of it.

Probably by finding a part-time weekend job.

Which, sure. That is what I need to do. I get that. But here’s my issue.

If I wanted to be a paralegal, or a lawyer, or whatever, I would know exactly what to do. Exactly. I’d look for another paralegal type job, a better one, with more pay, even if they’re slightly longer hours. I’d find some firm willing to pay me a salary with actual insurance in exchange for a 50- or 60- (or 70-) hour work weeks.

But I don’t want to be a paralegal or lawyer or whatever. I want to be an artist. An author. A full-time creative type that writes and blogs and paints and draws and makes her living off of that. That is my goal, and that has always been my goal.

One of the main reason I started working for this woman in the first place, was that I had lots of time to do my creative thing. I have Fridays off, and flexible hours. She had no problem me working a twelve hour day and skipping the afternoon of the next, so long as I didn’t have clients. And I love that flexibility.

But now? Now I have to get a part-time job, and use all those wonderful, glorious flexible hours into working somewhere else. It’ll cut into my creative time, which yes, sure, I will be earning money to pay my bills, but paying my bills isn’t exactly my goal here.

Yes. I’m whining. I get that.

I just…

This just really sucks.

Stiles is crying.
Stiles is crying. My world is a vast sea of sad emotions.

(Why yes, have a gratuitous image of Stiles Stilinski crying. For reasons.)

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Author: Eris O'Reilly

I'm a writer, artist, knitter, crocheter, cat wrangler, zombie hunter, and law enthusiast. Also, I am a complete and utter fangirl. I like silliness.

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