On Friday, it was 2 a.m. and I was so wired I had to sip orange juice with gin to try to get relaxed enough to go to sleep. I’d been on work mode since I got up at 5 a.m., and that makes 21 hours of nonstop insanity. Listening to my girls T&S on the train is literally the best thing that happens all day. Caffeine gives me panic attacks, but here I am, chugging 3-4 cups of regular coffee a day to power through. It’s just too much.
I take the 6 a.m. train out of here and don’t get back till 7 p.m. I’m gone for 13 hours a day, and when I get back, I have to get ready for the next day and sometimes abstract MORE leases for my freelance side-job. I am essentially working 2 jobs. This second job pulls in a good 20-25% extra money, which is why I’m sticking with it.
I started this thing with my old boss while I was between jobs: they send me leases, I abstract them, I send them back when I’m done and get paid a flat amount per lease, whether it has 13 amendments or none. It was no problem when I had nothing to do all day. But now, having to do it on top of my day job…let’s just say it doesn’t leave any time for a social life, a creative life, or, goddamn it, researching my options (like roommates, or 1-bedroom apartments) for getting the fuck out of my parents’ house.
I’ve been texting Mark. We were best friends for the almost-2 years we were dating, and neither of us wants to see that go to shit, so we’re setting boundaries for a new kind of relationship.
I’ve turned him into a bro. I’m one of the boys now – we can chill, have a metaphorical beer together, and talk about the ladies we like. (You know you’re gay when you can have locker room talk with your ex-boyfriend!) And I must say, it’s really kind of cool. The animosity between us has evaporated, I feel at peace with the possibilities my future has to offer, and now that I’m not pining over him (which lasted a grand total of 4 weeks, until I realized I could finally have a girlfriend and I got over it) I’ve found that I’m truly happy. At least, in my personal life, where it exists.
While everyone else was fucking around watching movies this weekend, I was making $600. I’m not going to say it was easy, sitting in my room on Friday night working while my mom watched Downton Abbey reruns by herself. It wasn’t the time of my life. I wish that 6 hours from now I didn’t have to start winding down my evening, refrain from watching the next 5 episodes of Orange is the New Black and sit down to yet another sloppily scanned lease from 1980 that I can barely read before heading out to my day-job tomorrow and do more of the same thing. I’m getting so expert at this business that sometimes I have to tell the people at work how to use the database! And I’m the new girl…
I never saw it this way. It was never a career option for me. But I’m pulling in money as fast as I can and saving every penny for my future. And now that I’m holding on for dear life as the merry-go-round of a new job sends me careening into around the 8-5 circle, I don’t really have time to stop and ponder what it is I’d rather be doing.
You see, I’d rather be in Venice, having a glass of the finest Chianti while the piazza floods and the sun sets. I’d rather be fucking the girl of my dreams and watching her dreamy brown eyes go wide with pleasure. I’d rather be hanging out in my nonexistent art studio, painting the rest of my texture series entitled Blue. I’d rather be learning how to play guitar, partying with some homos, or walking a lab puppy along Juneway Terrace Beach. There are a million and one other things I’d rather be doing. At the moment I’d settle for “buying a car” or “moving out” – and I don’t even have time to do THAT.
I’ll tell you what I should do. I should write a novel while I’m on the train for 3 hours a day and then sit back and watch it collect rent money for me. But really, how can I write a novel when I feel totally fucking stoned every morning when I wake up?
It’s only temporary, I tell myself. And it is.