It's official: I am a paid writer! I got my first paycheck from Vox today. Feels good. I promptly handed it over to King V for safekeeping. (I'm saving up money to pay rent.) I get a very small unemployment funds disbursement next week, after which I need to find out if I'm eligible for more funds. Professional writing is great, but I believe I mentioned I only get $50/week. Hardly enough to pay my rent, let alone any other bills. Still, though... paid writer.
In awesome and thrilling news, Visa is once again hounding me. I'd been on a payment plan for a year and was making diligent, if nearly useless $90 monthly payments to attack a balance that is in the thousands. The payment plan ended and I have to wait four months until I can apply for it again. I'm... not sure why, really. Now my balance is stacking back up and the company called about 10 times yesterday. I know they're automated calls and I innocently missed most of them -- sometimes the phone vibrates, sometimes it doesn't -- but I picked up the last three or so. Each time, there was nothing but dead air. I would faithfully say hello a few times before disconnecting the call. The fourth time, irritated, I answered the phone and immediately started yelling, "HELLO HELLO! HELLO! HELLO!" Somewhere around the third hello, a guy started talking. Of course he did. Now, in addition to being a slow-paying customer, I am a certifiable nutcase.
It's raining here today and it's greyyyyy outside. Not entirely depressing, but I'm certainly in a far more contemplative mood than I have been. Lots of things are changing in my life -- among them employment opportunities and friendships -- and I'm mulling over a lot of things, including the memory of getting my face smashed in by a table leaf yesterday.
Yep.
I awoke yesterday to discover George acting weird and predatory. Another fucking bird had gotten into my house. I leave the porch door open so the cats can go in and out. Bonus: No litterbox to scoop anymore; huzzah! Drawback: I'm Tippi Hedren.
For a few minutes, I yelled at the bird to leave ("There's the door! It's open! Go towards the cool air and sunshine!") and panicked while I watched it hop around my kitchen. I'm glad it was a cardinal this time; it made it easier to keep an eye on it. My shotgun-style apartment has a very weird feature -- two bathrooms across from one another -- and I opened their doors to block off the entrance to the kitchen, which didn't work because there's just enough room for the doors to swing completely open. I dragged over a metal storage cabinet, the putty-colored kind where office supplies are kept. The cabinet helped block the doorway, which I was attempting because I didn't want the damn bird to escape the kitchen. There was a huge gap left, so I picked up a table leaf and set it atop the cabinet. It seemed to work, but I noticed the cabinet needed to move to the right a bit. I slowly scooted it and about a second later, I had my hands over my face trying to figure out what had just happened.
The leaf had soundlessly and quickly slid off the top of the cabinet, crashing into my face on its way to the ground. (Gravity works!) It hit me on my nose, my upper lip, and across my right cheekbone. I'm thoroughly stunned that I didn't get stabbed in the eye, or break my glasses, nose, or teeth, or anything else. I stood there for a minute because it hurt so bad that I was afraid to assess the damage. I have a couple pretty scab/scratches on my nose and upper lip (You should see the other guy!) and apparently have a cut inside my mouth up on my gum, but after time with an ice pack and some ibuprofen, I'm basically fine. The right side of my face occasionally aches dully, but that's about it.
I moved the cabinet and table leaf out of the way after I made sure I didn't have to go to a doctor and, more determined than ever, returned to the kitchen doorway to get the bird out of the house. I banged the Swiffer on the floor and found that the bird was hopping around behind the fridge. It probably only took about two minutes for it to take flight and FINALLY fly out to the porch, at which point I dashed across the kitchen and slammed the door. I screamed at George a few times (um, I was crying a little bit -- surprise!) to STOP BRINGING BIRDS IN MY HOUSE. I sat next to her last night and petted her and she bit me. Yeah, well, I'm not too thrilled with your dumb ass either. Did I mention I was naked during this entire adventure? Yep.
After The Table Leaf Smackdown, I posted about the experience on Facebook -- because sharing my life with the Internet is *always* a good idea -- and got some sympathy but also got some dickhead comments from people who were reportedly laughing their asses off. One woman, noting that George had tipped off the entire event, suggested I get a "cat" scan to check for facial damage.
Funny. See if you're laughing when you discover I've unfriended your dumb ass.
I posted a terse comment about the whole thing not being a great idea but that I got my karmic due when I got hit in the damn face. Translation: STFU. The not-so-helpful comments stopped after that.
In news unrelated to stupidity and personal injury, I'm pursuing a lot of creative ventures, including working with other artists on their creative projects. My friend Gilbert, who engineered my spoken-word CD, is working on his next CD and asked if I wanted to collaborate on a project. I readily agreed. I love the idea of working with other artists, which reminds me to call a photographer friend of mine who has been encouraging me to work with her on a photo/poetry book. I told King V yesterday that I really want to pursue the full-time artist thing and he basically dragged my kite out of the sky with phrases like 'But you're still looking for a REAL job, right??' I understand where he's coming from. Of COURSE I'm worried about money and paying bills and surviving but if all I do is worry, then I'll never want to create ANYTHING. I continue to pursue full-time jobs and I know something will work in my favor. I'm hopeful that my gig as a Professional Writer will begin to open up doors to other creative ventures.
Tonight, I'm going to an artists' open house. I plan to swoop through the building in an hour, tops, and then I'm meeting a friend for beer. I'm tired and cranky and the locale I'm going to is a renovated warehouse which is HUGE. The main reason for swooping through is that I'm not getting paid to be there and I've been told to spend no more than an hour writing a blog. (See also: Tired. Cranky. Gimme a damn beer, it's been a long week.) I'm averaging three entries a week, so I'm getting about $16/pop. That figure gets dragged down, obviously, when you start talking about doing research and attending functions. I told Queen S that I would do the job for free -- it's fun and amazing that an opportunity like that has finally found me -- but that doesn't mean I'm going to hand back the paycheck I just got. It's so pretty. It has my name on it and everything! Maybe I'll frame it. Or spend it on crack and hookers.
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