Thursday, July 30, 2009

I'm Hungry.

Today, I joined the Critters Writer's Workshop.

Okay, I signed up a couple days ago; but today, I sent in my first critique, which means I'm eligable to submit my own work now. It's the first purely positive step I've taken for my writing in a while. Besides, you know, writing.

I'm trying to get out of Archaeology. It's a cool job to have, when I have it- which isn't very often. I'm looking at a nice little gray-box job in a nice little lab full of people with piercings and big open laughs, so while I may have to dress and play nice for clients, its reassuring that it's such a cheerful place.

This transition has me nervous. If I get the job, I will have a decent wage and benefits. Benefits out the wazoo, to be precise; healthcare and dental and paid vacation days galore. And that kind of scares me.

I'm afraid that I won't work as hard on my writing if I have it that easy at work. I'm afraid that having all of that will make the cost of leaving that much more expensive. Because my goal in life is not to have a nice job with benefits and a decent writing career.

It's a stupid fear; I was well provided for in high school and college and I sure as hell got a lot of writing done then. Being hungry, that hurts your writing. Having constant headaches because your wisdom teeth are impacted, that hurts your writing. Living in hotel rooms and the tiny hothouse world of Archaeology with nobody to talk to because they're all stoned out of their minds, that hurts your writing.

This starving artist stuff is crap.

I always thought that hunger was a last resort kind of problem. But the only person who's upset when you skip a meal is you, and compared to the accusing small print on bills, it doesn't seem like a big deal. I have money, it's just not mine. I could eat more. I should, really; I fucking do physical labor for a living. But I never realized just how stressful it is to judge every meal in light of how many calories you're getting per dollar, how much fiber, and have I actually eaten fresh meat today, no, so I better have a pb&j, but I'm so goddamn tired of ramen pasta and peanut butter sandwiches and god I would kill for a steak or hell, one fresh fucking salad.

I don't make enough money to really feed myself.

That's a hell of a thing to swallow.

Suddenly, I'm not so nervous about this job. Huh. Imagine that.


Anonymous said...

I care.
As long as Daddy and I are around you will never, ever go to bed or wake up hungry again. I promise. If we have a tic tac we will chop it into threes.


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