I’m supposed to have the first chapter of my novel written by next Sunday, but every time I sit down to write, I suddenly become very desirous of a nap.
I’ve had two interviews in the past two days and they make me desirous of a nap, too. I am breaking out in hives at the thought of spending forty hours a week pretending to care about things that actually make me yawn. For the first time in a really long time, I feel like I’m living my life right and I’m not ready to give that up.
I start one of my contract gigs tomorrow and I have an interview on Monday for a part-time job in the public sector and I just submitted my first freelance writing proposal. I really want to make this work.
I am going to make this work.
Today was my first day volunteering at the community radio station. I had this romanticized idea about the whole thing which of course did not line up with reality at all. I expected to be hailed as a modern day hero for giving of my time, but in reality my boss was almost half an hour late meeting me and seemed annoyed at the interruption to her schedule. I had visions of a glamorous, creative job in radio, but in reality she showed me how to sort the mail. Most of the time, she acted like I wasn’t even there.
It finally occurred to me that she didn’t expect me to come back. She probably meets with volunteers all the time and most of them probably never show up for a second shift.
I told her I’d be back next Monday and I will. I don’t know why exactly, but it seems important.
In other news, it’s borderline ridiculous how much it’s snowing.
EDIT: Borderline nothing. This snow has passed the border, dodged the guards, and is currently picking tomatoes in Florida for 21 cents an hour.