Entries Tagged 'Work' ↓

Did you know that I went to college for a couple of years? I dropped out midway through my fifth semester, but I was there long enough to grab three years worth of psych courses, some anthropology and biological sciences.

At one point, I had a grandiose plan to complete my bachelors with a double major in neuropsychology and biochemistry and then head off to med school.

Ha!

But I didn’t stop wanting to help people. And my interest in the scientific reasons behind our health – and the emotional responses because of them – never waned.

I’ve long sort-of planned to return to school. When Isobel went to school, maybe (home-schooling really acts as a metaphorical stick in the spoke of that idea). When I had more money (and that would be…when?). When I was older (I’m not getting any younger, man).

I’ve always wanted to finish my degree – mainly for the reason that it would be the first education-related thing I’ve ever graduated from (we don’t count Kindergarten, elementary or junior high school, do we? Cuz if so, I’m missing three degrees). I wanted the piece of paper to frame with a magnet on my fridge, so there would be some proof that I started something and I finished it.

A few months ago, I became a little more realistic. Noting my wealth of money and time, I resigned myself to not going back to school until Isobel was far older – like, old enough for me to leave at home alone to do her own school work while I went to two classes a day.

I decided that I was going to start riding this freelancing wave as high and far as I could, for as long as I could – working from home has so many more benefits than working outside of it ever could, for me. For us.

The plan was to focus on writing. Add in blog design, and as I got more experienced with that, website design. And, start writing eBooks and launch a decluttering business. Oh, and relating to the writing stuff? I’d put my effort into stuff I loved, but dabble in the high-paying stuff I knew: business writing.

Being the corporate bitch of several companies afforded me a lot of experience creating business plans, prospectuses, SEC documents, accounting reports and so on and on. I did some digging and found out how much people were willing to pay freelancers to do their business plans. Wowie, just one could pay for a month’s groceries. I’m in.

I went looking for a refresher – I have been out of cubical hell for nearly three and a half years, now. And while I was googling, I tweeted what I was up to because I’m self-important. Vancityrockgirl let me know about a program I should check out. Where I could get paid to learn how to be self-employed (cuz I haven’t learned how within the past two and a half years). Fuck yeah.

If I get into the program, I’m looking at seven weeks of intensive (in comparison to daily life) classroom work, then 41 weeks of support (both professional- and income-based) getting my business up and running.

That ‘income support’ could be college money. And daycare. But mostly college money.

It could pay for courses to finish my degree, or to update the decade old transcript I have. It could be savings for the program I want to go into after I finish my degree.

Yeah, I’m back on the going-back-to-school bandwagon. Because it seems nearly immediate. And fated.

So, what am I going to be when I grow up, after what will probably end up being a decade of part-time and distance education?

A naturopath with a psych degree, who writes and declutters during her non-office hours. Who is considering getting her counselling certificate, too. And probably teaches yoga on the side, while helping her daughter decide between Ivy League applications, New York Film Academy or National Ballet of Canada auditions.

Because me? I totally believe in realism.

When I was 20, I worked a full-time job, a part-time one, took three classes a semester and volunteered at Planned Parenthood, dispensing advice and the pill. I had a drinking habit, a small circle of everyday friends, a larger circle of every weekend friends, some friends (who came with benefits) and six-packs.

In hind-sight, I owned the fucking universe.

And the jobs would promote me, and I’d get A minuses, and a discount on my depo-provera. And I didn’t have to deal with the focus issues that I now have because I didn’t have a nearly-three-year-old-fog-horn in my ear, I drank lots of coffee and still dabbled in the nose candy (read: anything that makes you speedier makes a person with ADD more focused), and I didn’t have a week’s worth of bleeding, painful hell to deal with every three to four weeks.

Yes, I’m blaming my period.

Since, I’ve had that decibel-emitter, I’ve obviously gone off the birth control and I’ve quit coffee, wheat, dairy, and pretty much all other things that make life fun (ie. drugs) when you’re 20 years old.

I grew up.

And I got dumber. Or so it seems.

Deadlines get forgotten without notes. I need notes to remind me to check my notes. I can’t work on a long-winded task while she’s up – yes, I just admitted that sometimes I put on a movie (fuckit. or two, or three) when I have a deadline and no childcare, to work. Also? I have absofuckinglutely no patience for interruptions when I’m working. Whether you’re 6′2″ or 35″, you’re getting the death glare, the huff and the adult version of annoyed whining.

It kind of sounds like her annoyed whining. Yes, she is mine, why do you ask? Nature vs nurture people.

Anyway…

The point is, I cannot multi-task any longer. I used to pwn juggling 40 thousand things and now, I have to double check if she’s wearing underwear before we leave the apartment and maybe if I am, too. I put her in the bath, walk ten feet away to do dishes from a vantage point that I can see her, and I forget that she’s in the tub. I have to set a timer to tell me when dinner’s done, people. When I’m making pancakes.

Right now, I have a lot on my plate. Besides pancakes.

I’m designing five websites. I’m getting products to review. I’m amalgamating my three side blogs into this one. I’m writing on a bunch of sites and have plans for ebooks, too. Two clients need three and a half years of bookkeeping done between them, and I should probably get around to mine from last year, too – so I can do my taxes, three months late.

Oh, and did I mention that I have no childcare this month? Yeah, she’s on holidays, our care giver.

So me? I’m out of here. I’m off, galavanting. For at least two weeks.