I got a job. The kind where they pay you on a regular basis with a check that clears and a boss and an email and responsibilities and for christssake I may get a business card. I shit you not. Okay. So edit me. Censor me. I GOT A JOB! Can I tell you that since my last pity-party-posting, I have applied to 77 jobs I could do easily, and
Spring break is wrapping up in my corner of the world and while those lucky bastards still venturing off to warmer clients, oblivious to the fact their 529s won’t buy books, I took my soon to be 17-year-old daughter college hunting in the sort-of, kind-of, mid-west. Or rather, what Nor’ Easterners call mid-west. Ohio and Pennsylvania. According to Yahoo Maps, it was 21.45 hours of actual drive time, round trip.
This is my town where backyard finagling and barbecue lead to stacked teams while deserving athletes and families are left outside looking in. This is my town where police blotters are scoured for names of the afflicted, and sighs of relief echo when we escape another week unscathed. And this is my town where one terrible phone call alerts the gossip mill of a sick kid, a dead spouse, a tragic accident,
We did it! Twenty-six guests: kids, cousins, sisters, aunts, a boyfriend, uncles, buffers, the Reverend-Doctor, a couple in-laws, friends, grandparents, and even an estranged Great-Aunt Thanksgiving crasher and still, Thanksgiving was great! Kids connected, turkey was eaten, pies were baked, cards were played, memories mocked, photos taken, and it was all so blissfully calm and bright. I don’t mean to brag, but . . . No one threw dishes. No
There’s one less middle school student in my town today. One less Boy Scout, one less baseball player. One less swimmer. One less brother. One less son. A boy died and our hearts broke. Time stood still while moms, dads, neighbors, teachers, coaches, and friends tried to negotiate the traffic jam of gossip and rumors and finally, sadly, truth. Sometimes you can do everything right and still nothing is okay.
I’ve been working full time trying to find work. Small jobs trickle in, but this month — and last — not so much. It’s ten years post IR, Internet Revolution, with four kids, a dog and a day off from school. Oh, and the economy’s tanking and no one’s hiring and if they are, they’re not sure they can pay you – ever. Freelancers like me spend more time soliciting work, than actually
Here’s the scoop: I can write practically anything in a couple hours. Brochures, space advertisements, blogs, annual reports, newsletters, eblasts, promo copy, whatever. Longer pieces, longer hours, but I can get it done. I’m apparently still good at it and people pay me. Go figure! I’m on the road again! I’m working! I’m a copywriter! Way back when, outnumbered by kids and the energy in, energy out equation left me
Let’s just say this working, not working, freelancing, stay-at-home, flex-time, tele-commuting, blogging life I’m living is not really an on-ramp, off-ramp situation. It’s more like the movie we’ve all seen but never admit to: Chevy Chase’s European Vacation. Remember? “Look kids, Big Ben!” Constant chaos, but with moments of clarity, beauty and humor that make the trip worthwhile. Take for instance, my first, real, live, paying, back-to-work experience in um, let’s say, about 2½ kids: