It’s about time that I started kicking my own ass. Again.
I’m not behind for once, per se, but I ain’t winning any races.
What the eff am I talking about? The following:
In a month and a half
I’m getting my new tattoo. I’ve put down a deposit on it, the consult’s been done for weeks and the left side of my waist is aching for the pain, screaming, ‘bring it’. Problem is, this tattoo is a three hour deal, being done by an artist who charges $160 an hour. And I should tip. The deposit was only $100. You do the math, there. And then, right after that…
In two and a half months
I’ll be getting on a plane, after dropping Isobel at a friend’s house. At BlogHer ‘09, I’ll be staying in a hotel room with three other bloggers, live blogging two sessions, probably getting a set of somethings pierced, maybe a small tattoo and attending a couple of parties. Of course, I’ve only bought airfare for there, so far. And paid my portion of the hotel deposit (I kind of had to, since I booked it on my card). And I have a pass to the whole weekend, cuz of the live blogging.
I still have to come up with a flight home – cuz the family hanging onto Isobel for three days will probably want me to come back – my portion of the room, body changing moneies and the most important part: a lush-fund. After that three-day drinkfest of sisterhood (during which I will not puke, I swear)…
In three months
I’ve agreed with the ex to scale back the support payments as per our agreement last year. This means that to maintain the same standard of living – which isn’t much, but we’re happy, so fuck it – I’m looking to make a few more hundred a month, writing. Every month. Small scale, right? Not when there’s tattoos and vacations to pay for and everywhere you look, people are woe-ing the economy. I’m actually a little nervous. Which means…
Within the next month
I’ll be putting a lot of effort into writing more, shamelessly self-promoting, rebranding (including redesigning this blog and a few others), applying for more work and officially, launching a new site, with my real name and everything on it. For seducing would-be clients away from people who actually know how to write, and hopefully into my email inbox.
Also, I’ll be doing some sexy reading – about business plans and writing – so I can add that onto the ‘folio. I seem to remember, pre-Isobel, that I was kick ass at the business stuff, but have no recollection why, how, what. But you know, that’s not even the largest stressor. What is, is that…
In four months
Isobel will be starting preschool, going for 2 and a bit hours each day, Monday to Friday. No biggy about her going, or about her being worried about separating from me. No concern that she’ll get sick more, or eat the wrong foods. Not even a bit chagrined about having to wake up earlier each morning, to get her there on time. My panic comes about when I realize that I won’t be there to wipe her ass and I only have four months to teach her how.
She’s done it once before, so determined to do it herself and in her own way that she adamantly didn’t listen to me about directional behaviour (or the need to FOLD the paper, not CRUMPLE it. Dammit.). She came down with a heinous UTI within two days.
So, I haven’t let her do it again, since. How does one teach a little kid with monkey arms but a complete lack of coordination and extreme case of wilful ‘I do what I want, not what you say’ how to make sure she’s skid-free?
It boggles the mind, all of the heavy shit I have to deal with, doesn’t it?
