Career (and other stuff) whine
Mar. 2nd, 2004 01:03 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
pantryslutI am tired of doing piecework for a living.
I don't even have the energy to whip this post up into a proper tantrum. I'm burnt out and my wrists and neck ache -- just a little, nothing serious, I still do my stretches and take breaks and everything, I'm not crippling myself, I just ache -- and I'm indulging bad habits like procrastinating until the very last minute on each and every assignment because I can. And if it doesn't have a deadline, it gets put off indefinitely. And everyone I know is editing books, or writing books, or at least shopping proposals around, and I'm writing piecework for a living.
I suppose now is as appropriate a time as ever to mention that I got turned down by a graduate school this weekend. My top choice no less.
It doesn't help my mood, either, that I had another attack of digestive upset over the weekend -- not as bad as in November, when I spent a week eating saltines, and more controlled this time by various remedies, but still no fun. (This is what kept me from the meeting last night.)
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imnotandrei took a look at me yesterday and said, "So what you're telling me is that January came late this year." "I always was a late bloomer," I replied.
But back to the point. I'm tired of writing piecework for a living. I want to work on my own projects for a change. Which probably means I should find another job, maybe one that doesn't involve writing all the damn time. And maybe something where I got to see more than the cats during my regular working hours. Except that nobody seems to want to pay me for anything except my writing. I really wouldn't mind going back to being a managing editor type*, really. But who's gonna hire me to edit their tidy little journal when I used to file naked photos for a living? Nobody's hired me in the last five years -- that's how I got to be here in the first place. And everyone I meet is always so fucking *impressed* that I write for a living (dearestblack_pearl_10 excluded), and they really don't want to hear about how I started doing this because I could't get a job doing anything else I was supposedly qualified for, and I continue yo do it because that continues to be true.
There. That turned out as a tidy little rant after all. I feel better now.
*they never gave me that title officially.
I don't even have the energy to whip this post up into a proper tantrum. I'm burnt out and my wrists and neck ache -- just a little, nothing serious, I still do my stretches and take breaks and everything, I'm not crippling myself, I just ache -- and I'm indulging bad habits like procrastinating until the very last minute on each and every assignment because I can. And if it doesn't have a deadline, it gets put off indefinitely. And everyone I know is editing books, or writing books, or at least shopping proposals around, and I'm writing piecework for a living.
I suppose now is as appropriate a time as ever to mention that I got turned down by a graduate school this weekend. My top choice no less.
It doesn't help my mood, either, that I had another attack of digestive upset over the weekend -- not as bad as in November, when I spent a week eating saltines, and more controlled this time by various remedies, but still no fun. (This is what kept me from the meeting last night.)
imnotandrei took a look at me yesterday and said, "So what you're telling me is that January came late this year." "I always was a late bloomer," I replied.But back to the point. I'm tired of writing piecework for a living. I want to work on my own projects for a change. Which probably means I should find another job, maybe one that doesn't involve writing all the damn time. And maybe something where I got to see more than the cats during my regular working hours. Except that nobody seems to want to pay me for anything except my writing. I really wouldn't mind going back to being a managing editor type*, really. But who's gonna hire me to edit their tidy little journal when I used to file naked photos for a living? Nobody's hired me in the last five years -- that's how I got to be here in the first place. And everyone I meet is always so fucking *impressed* that I write for a living (dearest
black_pearl_10 excluded), and they really don't want to hear about how I started doing this because I could't get a job doing anything else I was supposedly qualified for, and I continue yo do it because that continues to be true. There. That turned out as a tidy little rant after all. I feel better now.
*they never gave me that title officially.
