What’s Annoying Me Right Now:
I’m really fucking annoyed that I haven’t found freelance writing work. I’m really displeased that every moment of my free time during the last month or so I’ve spent looking for writing jobs that either don’t really exist or are total scams.
What annoys me the most about this is that I set a goal around New Years to write 100 words a week for my “book” (I’m putting this in quotes, because until I am seriously working on a book, said book does not really exist). Guess how many of the 800 words I’ve written?
If you guessed zero, You win a rotisserie chicken! Huzzah!
Yes, zero fucking words.
And 800 words since New Years is a pitiful goal. I’ve written longer blog posts than that in one sitting.
So, now, not only am I still not a freelancer, I’m also not really a writer, because I’ve yet to actually write anything of substance, because all I’ve been doing is looking for writing.
Are You Fucking Kidding Me?
So, I was recently asked, “Why don’t you look for a real side job.”
That’s a good question, Karen.
I guess I have a follow up question to your question. What is a “real” job, Karen?
Is cleaning the slushy machine and taking customer’s sweaty dollar bills the kind of real job you’re referring to?
Maybe you see me as more of a burger flipper?
Is that a more real job for you?
Or, maybe you’d get a real kick out of my fat ass doing manual labor?
I guess my answer to your question is I don’t want another real job as I already have a real job teaching and planning lessons for a solid 9 hours a day.
Why is it so insane to people that I’d prefer to sit on my couch in my pizza-stained sweats while I’m using my minimal free time to make some extra money?
And, yes, the fact that the elusive freelance writing job hasn’t landed in my lap just yet but that I could probably start at the neighborhood 7-11 tomorrow isn’t lost on me, but it doesn’t mean that writing jobs don’t exist and aren’t real jobs. I just need to find one is all. So, get off my back fat, Karen.
Where’s My Xanax?
Let’s now do a complete 180 and turn up the crazy a bit.
Ya’ll, I’m legit freaked out about bed bugs.
Super psycho, I know, but once a worry makes itself comfortable in my brain like it owns the damn place, it takes what could be a normal concern and makes it into something neurotic and insane.
So, it started years ago when my boyfriend at the time and I were looking for a hotel in NYC. We kept reading these freaked out reviews about bed bugs.
At first I thought they were ridiculous. “Like, how did one bug ruin your life, Linda?” *serious eye roll*
I legit thought bed bugs weren’t real and they just lived in that weird song all of our grandparents sang while tucking us into bed, but then Google searches became my worst nightmare.
So, what did my insane brain do with my newly acquired knowledge?
IT TOOK IT AND RAN WITH IT NAKED AND SCREAMING UP THE STREET, YA’LL.
So, now I’m the freak who does a complete hotel room inspection when I stay somewhere. I’m also that weirdo who puts her bags in the hotel shower when it’s not being used. I’ve also been known to throw out perfectly good luggage because it could have been infiltrated by nasty bugs. Maybe also I’ve sprayed things down obsessively with 91% isopropyl alcohol (and yes, I know that’s a huge fire hazard).
And, now I don’t know how to be a normal, ignorant-to-the-world-of-creepy-crawlies person when I travel.
What are ya’ll annoyed or worried about lately? Make me feel less crazy, people.
