As of today, I have officially re-entered the workforce as a part-time project coordinator/administrative assistant. I had forgotten how exhausting it is, especially combined with my duties at home. Get the boys up and off to school, love the toddler, do my half of farm chores, love the toddler, work for six hours on gianormous binders called “close out packages”, love the toddler. Now I sit me down to write, I pray the Lord my energy to ignite. Pint-Sized Farmer love serves as fuel for my beleaguered soul; I’m blessed with his presence.
I had to do go back to a paying job. The flood wiped out more than just the landscape and, even with selling Shetland roving and taking the occasional art commission, the household needed an injection of a second regular income. Although I haven't given up on my writing career,I’m fortunate to find work in today’s economy, the economy that was first pronounced fundamentally sound on Black Monday before partially guilty corporate greed became the scapegoat for all our ills and the great deregulator called for regulation for the first time in 22 years. But I’m not here to talk politics. I do that on Open Salon. If you would like to see what talking politics does to my readers, check out the comments on Monday’s “Frightened” post.
I feel sorry for the people who cannot find jobs; I’ve talked to many. I’m also sympathetic to the people like my mother who depend on their investments, some in the stock market, for their sole means of income. It’s next to impossible to live off Social Security alone with today’s inflated food, fuel, and utility prices, and, when the stock market drops, so does the base from which income is derived thus lowering it. It’s hand-wringing. Let’s hope the roller coaster comes to an end soon. Americans love thrill rides in general but we can only take so much before we begin to get queasy. Me? I’ve always had a problem with motion sickness as it is. As a passenger, windy mountain roads do a number on me. Put me on the Tilt-a-Whirl and I’m guaranteed to lose my lunch. I guess this explains the bile I’ve been tasting all week.
So work. Although I still don’t know how I will fulfill all my responsibilities, and I’m counting on a trio of teenagers to pitch in more than they have been, it’s a good feeling to know I am contributing. This morning’s Delancey Place (in case you haven’t heard me mention it before, this e-newsletter is my favorite and never ceases to teach me something new every day, thus crossing that task off my list first thing) spoke of tenth and eleventh-century Japan and the women of Kyoto. In this period, it was shameful for an aristocratic woman to be dependent financially on her husband and many women wrote novels in Japanese (most men wrote texts about war, religion, and law in Chinese, their version of the Europeans’ Latin). By doing this, they invented Japanese literature. For about a hundred years, novels were written only by women. The world's first psychological novel is the Tale of Genji, written between AD 1002 and 1022, by a widow in her twenties. Obviously, women’s lib wasn’t something that first began last century and that’s a good thing.
What this will do to my posting regularity, I don’t know but I endeavor to keep it up. Frankly, until the last week or so, I’ve been doing a pretty piss poor job of it without gainful employment. I enjoy it and I plan on continuing it as long as someone cares to read my dribbling musings.
Now I’m off for some more toddler love and then I’m writing politics. Granted, on Open Salon, I’m preaching to the choir but commiseration from similar thinkers is good for my troubled soul.
Until we meet again…
