Snappy September - Day Thirteen - Tears
With the work I had scheduled with my most favouritest newspaper suddenly slashed to a quarter due to budget cuts it means that the three articles already researched, interviewed people for (whilst seeking permission from their respective media units, boss or publicity department), written and submitted won't be published and I won't be paid. Isn't it nice to know that a huge international media organisation had saved roughly a weeks' salary equivalent to a junior bank clerk thanks to me, marvellous me?
I spent last week in a bit of a panic about it. No, my income was half a sheet of loo paper compared to Love Chunk's sixteen squares neatly folded and ready to deal with diarrhoea but it sure as hell helped and with scheduled articles it was easy to predict when my 'salary' (if you can call it that as a freelancer) would arrive. Not any more.
My writing income would cover our weekly grocery shop and maybe Sapphire's viola and tennis lessons, but it made me feel as though I could justify saying - out loud, to other people - that I was a writer and that yes, my public embracing of the polar fleece and scruffy jeans was just part of who I was - a 'writer'.
It was time to get onto Seek and look for some jobs. One appeared as though it was designed just for me. Part time writer of press releases, website information and newsletter for a dog shelter one suburb away. Preferable to have knowledge of blogging and a genuine love of dogs. Hello.....? Blew the dust off my CV, wrote a killer cover letter and sent it off.
Got rejected (via email which was automatically sent to the spam folder) within twenty four hours.
Ah well, life goes on, keep my not-inconsiderably-sized chin up, see what else is out there..... Decided to do their online test that asked many in-depth questions about qualifications, years of employment, industry sectors worked in, skills gained, on-the-job training opportunities, key achievements etc. Made a coffee as the magic box ticked over and said, 'Your suggested jobs will be coming soon.'
And there it was - data entry. Data pharking entry. What?
There's no cancer ravaging my body; our home is warm and safe and my husband, daughter and dog always seem happy to see me, yet I spent the day sobbing and trying very hard not to slide down towards the self flagellation I'm known for.
What value do I really add to this family?
My inability to do a 'real' job without being burned or burned out means that LC is trapped into working hard all the time, with no freedom or options. Shouldn't I be putting my energies towards something other than looking after my own needs first?
What about Sapphire? What kind of role model am I, when I can't even hack a 'real' job and aren't making much headway with such a namby-pamby form of work?
Dad rang me with a query. "Um Kath, there's this big basket of flowers - well, they're not flowers, but chocolates wrapped up to look like a bunch of flowers, so I think some chocolate company has made a mistake and they should be sent to you. They're pretty fancy, so I see that you're hitting the big time there, aren't you kiddo?"
"No Dad, they're for you."
"Because you never let me get you anything for Fathers' Day and I wanted - just for once - to give you something pretty - it should be in Crows' colours - is it Dad? - that would say that you've been a wonderful father to me and I love you."
....."Dad? Are you there, Dad?"
He was. And apart from the two times he found me in hospital, broken and hopeless, I heard him cry. And it made me smile and gave me more than just a little dollop of strength.