After two full weeks without an income, I went back to those low priced articles. I didn't realize when I started freelance writing how hard I actually worked just to get $20-$40 a day. Maybe my last job spoiled me, I don't know. What I do know is that the $10 I made today (yep, that's all) was the hardest I have worked in awhile. And for what? I'm still barreling towards financial ruin. A couple hundred bucks at the end of the month won't make a dent.
I would still love to get a new job in a different field, but who hires between Thanksgiving and Christmas? Seasonal work. That's about it. I've done that before. It's not much more pay than what I could make with writing and about ten times harder. I'm not opposed to hard work, but I'd like to feel appreciated when I do it. Retail and food service can't provide that kind of feeling at the end of the day. At least from my past experience it didn't.
What's frustrating to me is the feeling of frustration itself. One minute I'm puffing out my chest, ready to get something significant done. I have hope for a future that I've probably sprinkled too much fairy dust on. An hour later, I'm so disappointed in not finding an opportunity to explore that frustration sets in. The frustration turns into bitterness. I start scowling and sometimes go as far as yelling at the people on television. At least I'm not taking it out on anyone that can hear me, right? That's a little bit of a bright side.
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