2015 has begun. I wanted to talk about New Year’s Eve, but there’s actually very little to tell. My husband and I sat on the couch and watched TV and ate too many snacks. And yes, I drank some alcohol, but I was far from drunk. And I haven’t even cried this time that my deceased parents didn’t call me. That is something that I have done the past couple of years, but this time I was just sad, but not sad enough to cry.
I did cry a lot this week, but for different reasons. The past couple of months I’ve been trying to ‘find myself’. I hate the term. It’s so new-agey and something I associate with rich white girls who have too much money and too much time. I don’t have much money and my time is limited because of my job. I work in retail. I hate it. That is why I cried so much.
The past couple of weeks I have discovered that this is what I want to do, this is what really fits me. Writing erotica, publishing it, reading other people’s work, Twitter, everything. I’ve been writing erotica for almost twenty years now, so that’s not new. I’ve never considered doing it for a living though. And now that I am working on that career, it makes my day job a thousand times harder.
How am I supposed to get up at 5:30 in the morning and be expected to function like a normal human being for the next eight to ten hours? How can I smile and be polite to people who assume my brains are the size of a grape? Why do I need to be friendly to people when I need to suspect every one of them to be stealing and cheating, even the sweet old little ladies? Why do I get chided for every little thing that I do wrong, and never complimented for something I do right?
I am writing and publishing and making a little money from writing. That feels spectacular. I get butterflies in my stomach every time I sell a book. Writing stories makes me feel calm. Writing this relieves me. But it’s going to take at least another two years till I make enough to quit my day job. We’re going to move to another house to cutback on our mortgage, but that’s going to take at least another year. Sometimes it feels endless and hopeless.
When I started publishing I vowed I wasn’t going to be a negative whiney presence on the web. I’ve had friends like that on Facebook and in the end I unfriended them, because I couldn’t take the negativity. Let’s just say that I hope one day my life in its current form will end. That I will be able to quit my day job, or at least this one. And until that day I will just have to bear with it and make the best of it, any way that I can.
Sometimes while cleaning at work I’ll smile to myself. Some anonymous person has just bought my vampire horror story and is now jacking off to some weird fantasy I wrote. Then I look at the customers and colleagues around me and think: if only you knew…