Guilty on all counts...

• Working from home and not respecting my own boundaries (i.e. "end of day" means I stop working). Too many nights over the past few weeks spent working on various projects late into the evenings. Verdict: Guilty.
• Giving the cat Albacore tuna (not cheap, BTW) three days in a row because I haven't had time/energy/inclination to go to the grocery store and buy cat food. Verdict: Guilty.
• Not showering/washing my hair for TWO DAYS IN A ROW. Verdict: Gross.
• Ordering Pad Thai for dinner last night because I didn't want to cook and my pantry was running low anyway (see: not going to the grocery store). Verdict: Guilty.
• Writing, but the kind of writing that won't see the light of day for some time. Let's call it cathartic writing, except that it stopped being cathartic and instead has caused hostility, anger, and a general bad mood to resurface. I've been in therapy on and off since childhood and I should know to leave it be for a while by now. But I don't. Verdict: Guilty. And stupid.
• Being happy that it rained all day Monday so I didn't have to take the dog for a long walk - meaning no exercise for me either and I spent the entire day with face in computer. Verdict: Guilty.
• Feeling guilty about all of the above and not cutting myself very much slack. Verdict: Guilty.

What can I say? Do you want to hear about all of the billing I have out for work I've yet to be paid for? Do you want to know how difficult it is to make a living on a project by project basis? Do you want a rant about how worried I am about my COBRA running out at the end of the year and the possibility that I may not be able to get coverage because I'm diabetic? Alternately, I have another rant about paying $400 a month for health insurance. I made a commitment to be positive - no matter what happens, no matter how low my checking account dips, no matter how many unpaid bills or time I spend on projects that I may or may not get paid for?

I don't even want to hear about that. But after having lunch with a friend last week and an interesting discussion about appearances versus reality, maybe I should write here more often about what the life of a freelancer is really like. It sounds glamorous and exciting to say I work from home, I set my own hours, I pick the projects I want to work on. But it's all one big scramble to make ends meet, and some months they don't meet very well.

I hear from other writers all the time - some friends, some casual acquaintances - and they want to know how I do it. This is how I do it: by the seat of my f*cking pants. I know I'm lucky. I have talent and skills and have learned a lot of new things this year. I can build web sites from scratch, I can build online advertising networks, I can be a media planner, I can edit, I can write. Survival skills. Don't underestimate them. And if you're a young writer planning on taking the leap from your boring day job to the exciting world of freelancing, stop and think about it first. If you have employer sponsored health insurance and a 40-hour a week job, there are many hours left in the week to write and submit articles and see your byline all over the place so you can feed your ego. But keep the day job, at least until the economy turns around or publishers get smart and start paying living wages for online content, because print media seems to be continuing its downward decline.

Expect more honesty from me here. I don't want to be responsible for anyone thinking they're "less than" because it appears that I'm not only paying my bills, but rolling in all of the extra money I'm making because I got a book published and write articles for magazines sometimes.

/confession

You know how sometimes...

...the best thing you can say about a day is that you were upright throughout most of it? And that you're not taking your foul mood out on anyone else? And that you're holding it together even though you really don't want to?

Yes, all of that - and then your 3-year-old nephew goes and gets himself a tattoo. Or, at least, your sister sends you a picture of your nephew with a fake tattoo and you laugh and the rest of it seems like...well, not much at all.


You know how it is, right?

Hate. Springing. Forward.

This time of year always gives me a case of the Mean Reds, and I've felt this one coming on for weeks. The change in seasons, the getting up earlier, the morning darkness, the spring in the air that makes me feel afraid and disturbingly nostalgic for things I don't want to think about anymore.

Since my life is in total disarray (I'm not exaggerating), I'm trying to decide which would be more effective: finding a new shrink or re-hiring my cleaning lady. They both cost about the same, but the shrink won't clean my house or fold my laundry or make the dust bunnies in the corners go away. On the other hand, my cleaning lady won't tell me to get the f*ck off the couch and start living my life. Or figure out why I go through these phases of hating myself that literally incapacitate me.

I detest myself even more for complaining, because so many other things in my life are so great. I have everything I've wished for since I can remember. I have wonderful friends & family, a job I adore, and a book deal. I have more things to be grateful for than I ever have in my whole life, therefore I suck for lying on the couch all weekend watching old episodes of Grey's Anatomy on DVD and weeping every 45 minutes or so.

I know it isn't depression; it's fear. Fear of death, success, loss, letting go, failure, dirt, outdoors, people, food, life...everything is worthy of dread. The good news is that I've been here before and I know it won't last. I always get through, push it aside, suck it up, and move on with my life. I need a good yoga class, bike ride, shopping spree, house cleaning, or sharp rap to the back of my head to get going again. And I think I'm going to try and make all of those happen this week.

"... the blues are because you're getting fat or because it's been raining too long. You're just sad, that's all. The mean reds are horrible. Suddenly you're afraid and you don't know what you're afraid of. Do you ever get that feeling?"
~Holly Golightly, Breakfast at Tiffanys