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mom, i’m a blogger

15 Apr

It’s seven p.m. and Mom is Windex-ing the house. The right thing for me to do is help her, I think. I could grab some paper towels and sweep them across the windows, inside and out, and rub until there are no streaks like the bottle promises. But, Maaahhhm, I’m a blogger. I have obligations as a blogger to observe the world around me and then report back.

I dropped off some ham at Grandma’s house down the street last night, and she gave me a storage-size Ziploc of already-washed homegrown lettuce. I thanked her and was about to leave before she mentioned something about work. She then mentioned a few more things about my work and how I should look for a full-time job, especially now that I’m getting married. She had a lot of useful information about pay, insurance, and office work, but Grandma is not really someone with whom I’d want to discuss the real plans I have for my future. Until I get paid to draw and write in my underwear at home, I have to at least pretend that I have a practical approach to work. I am working. I’m not working much, but I get paid a decent amount for what I do, and if I ignore the pragmatic future-planning, money-thinking, well-meaning folk in my spheres of influence, I can be content and optimistic about my baggy-jeaned, charcoal-on-face, right-hand-writer-cramp vision of my future.

Ugh, work, ugh, why does it make me want to pull my hair out and scream. The word itself, work, gives me delusions that I could very well run forever, into the sunset or the ocean where I could drown and die and continue running until I reach land again, even though I’m well aware that I can barely survive two miles. It makes me crazy much like this cold that doesn’t seem contagious anymore and seems to have dissipated, mostly, but not enough so that I won’t be sniffling for the next two weeks, coughing into my thickest jacket because it absorbs sound best, trying not to suffocate when the dry coughs won’t stop and I feel I might accidentally vomit while I stumble to the bathroom where I can be alone and where people won’t look at me all concerned like they wish there was something they could do to make me well again because they really don’t want my germs to infect them.

Here is a link to something I wrote during the Fall of 2010, regarding work.

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One Response to “mom, i’m a blogger”

  1. Wendy April 15, 2012 at 9:56 pm #

    Unless you plan on living at home forever, I’d seriously think about your Grandma’s advice. Or at least have Daniel bring home the bacon so you don’t have to worry about working šŸ˜‰

    Starving artist.. My friend is deathly afraid that her daughter will end up like that. Lol But you’re good at what you do so when (WHEN not if) you get that book published, you won’t need to worry about working that 9-5 job that you hate šŸ™‚

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