I haven’t written here in over a month because I’ve been exhausting my brain writing meaningless crap for other people’s blogs and websites. By the time I’m done finishing the 20th travel guide for an obscure town in Texas, I just want to hug my bottle of wine and cry.
The freelance writing jobs section of Craigslist is a real downer. It seems to me that most of the idiots that post there are under the impression that writers don’t need to eat. Yes, sure, I would love to write quality content for your personal blog for free. I have nothing better to do. I don’t need to pay rent or buy new underwear. All of these scams end with, “unfortunately we cannot pay you right now, but this is a great way to get your name out there!” Out where? I hate to break it you, but your poorly designed blog about dog fashion is not the Rolling Stone. A housewife logging on in South Africa is not the same thing as getting “international exposure”. God, it pisses me off. Do I ask artists to paint me free pictures in exchange for wall space in my living room? I don’t think so.
I finally moved the rest of my things out of my old apartment with Joey. It was more nerve-wrecking than I expected. The process required a 6-pack, wine, and a horrid top 100 radio playlist. I’m still shell-shocked from our monstrous love. Not in the sense that I have any lingering feelings. More like he’s a heavy sack of potatoes I have to drag around with me for the rest of my life. I’m afraid that because of sharing a severe drug addiction we are forever tied in some ugly, unavoidable way. It’s my eternal punishment for having been so rotten.
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