The Dimming Light

There was hope there, for a while. Not real, based-in-fact hope or anything like that. But hope that there was a way out, that I could work things so that I could stay home, or work from home, or freelance.

Not only that, but there was light at the end of the tunnel. In December, my car payments are over for now, and since the car is still running fine [she knocks furiously on the wooden coffee table in front of her] and I'm willing to ignore what time, carelessness and Baroy have done to the exterior, that should net us an extra $400 a month for a while. Not to mention that in a year, N goes to kindergarten, and we gain another almost-$700 from that.

So I was thinking it might be doable, if not this very minute, by early next year. I had a plan. It involved a job in education, and the writing of a book with a decent advance, and it was actually doable, if not done. I was excited, even if I was keeping it in check.

I was an idiot.

Did I really think it was going to be that easy? Did I really think the words "overqualified yet inexperienced in the field" weren't going to get in my way? Did I really think that there was going to be an actual telecommuting job out there for me? Just because I work in a freaking communications field, just because I'm a writer and therefore almost never NEED to actually be in an office, that doesn't mean that any of the industries I can contribute to will actually HIRE telecommuters. Or pay them anything above minimum wage, if they do.

Did I really think I'd be able to find the time amidst parenting and working and freelancing and driving and cooking and cleaning and volunteering and socializing and traveling and blogging and emailing and sleeping and crying and therapizing and visiting doctors and evaluating N to get a book proposal done?

Did I really think that if we took care of N's physical issues then I could switch to a private insurance plan and not have to worry? Did I really think he wouldn't then develop ANOTHER hernia and ANOTHER undescended testicle, making it almost impossible for me to consider a health plan that has any kind of exclusion for preexisting conditions?

Did I really think that I would be able to have normal budget that doesn't require me to consider the extra costs of private speech therapy, private social skills classes, private occupational therapy, private who-the-fuck-knows-what? Or to consider having health insurance that doesn't include such things on their menu of benefits?

See those marks around my wrists? Those are the not-so-golden handcuffs tethering me to my job, or to one just as oppressive and hateful.

That light at the end of the tunnel must have been a pretty cheap bulb, because it burned out already.