Thursday, May 7, 2015

20150507.0705

Yesterday, I was able to close out one class completely, administering its exam and assessing all of the submitted responses before entering final grades for the class for the term. Two more remain, to which I shall attend on Friday before heading out to see family and thence to Kalamazoo for reasons about which I have commented already. Yesterday's anxieties about things not going well after not starting on time proved unfounded, which I appreciate. I hope that today, since I did get going more or less when I had thought I ought, will not suffer in proportion. A certain degree of smart-assedness seems to be embedded into the world, and it would be a smart-ass thing to do to postpone consequences until their target is relaxed and inattentive.

Yesterday also saw me finish reading the novel I will be writing up for my freelance work. It was not so good as I could hope to read, although it is not as bad as the vampire porn piece I read earlier. (This is not because I am opposed to porn, per se. I am opposed to bad writing--and the writing was really bad. Adding an occasional aspiration to an English word does not make it exotic and foreign; it makes it annoying.) I expect to spend much of the day today writing up the novel, in and around taking care of Ms. 8 while her mother is at work. I should be able to get the task done, or nearly done, if I can be diligent about the use of my time while the girl is asleep or calmly at play. That is, unfortunately, not as often the case as it ought to be.

If it is not, it is in some senses because I am tired. My "other" job is not in a grocery store, as is the case for one writer, Matt Debenham, whose 1 May 2015 article a friend of mine brought to my attention yesterday. (I could wish it were in so nice of one as Debenham describes; I have never worked in one that treats its employees so well.) It is, instead, the freelancing of which I often write. My "main" job is not adjuncting, as such; I count as full-time and have an annual contract, but I remain contingent. As such, I find myself in much the same situation as Debenham describes; I am, in effect, working two jobs to make ends meet. Some of the need to do so is internal rather than external; I have written, I think, about my feeling compelled to work. Some is the result of my own prodigality; when I lived in The City and earned as if in The City, I spent as if in The City rather than remaining frugal, and I am paying for it now. But some is the need to ensure that Ms. 8 has what she needs, and the Mrs. has the occasional nice thing--because she damned well deserves it--and that they can have a roof overhead and food in their bellies while they enjoy them. What I make for the "main" job is not quite enough, particularly after twelve years of schooling after the first twelve and trying to pay for them after the fact.

So, yes, I join Debenham in working two jobs (at least; I might count as doing more, depending on how "a job" is figured). And so I am not as full of vim and vigor as I might otherwise be; I expend much of both keeping going.

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