Maybe because you’ve been reading what I write you’re familiar with the size of my Comfort Zone. It’saboutthisbig. This past week I was
told asked politely with a sense of impending urgency to make sure my seat was in the upright position, my tray table securely fastened, grab my integrity and please exit the Comfort Zone, don’t let the door hit me on my way out. Thank you for playing. Have a nice day. Hail, Caesar!
At first I was petrified. After all, I’ve lived inside this particular Comfort Zone for the better part of the past twenty years. It’s enclosed, heated, cooled, has indoor plumbing, a sleeping area and a kitchen. It now also has cable and wifi. Why leave if I don’t have to? Why? WHY?
Apparently the time has come and it looks like I have to. Money speaks louder than words. Money DOES buy happiness, no matter what your mother told you.
Working world, here I come!
I asked if I could be a hooker. I’d get to wear fun shoes, meet people, I could lie down and the fridge is but steps away. My guy said, “Anything that brings in money.”
Over the weekend I crawled out of the gate. I picked up applications and filled most of them out (I don’t have references!).
Yesterday I reached a healthy trot: I did some research online and applied for two positions that I’m capable of doing and that allow telecommuting. (I DON’T have to leave my Comfort Zone!) One is a revamp of a website, the other is blurbing and sounds like a more permanent position. I can blurb. I do that here. So…
We’ll see how it goes. I’m still looking, still wandering aimlessly wondering where I’m getting references (no past employers or family — I don’t have family, so that’s no biggie, but most of the people who know me well enough to vouch for me I’ve known through past jobs, so…. damn), and still hoping for something that will bring in money that I can do from here. (BEST IDEA EVER!)
Now, to find someone who appreciates me enough to give me money. And who isn’t my Gramma.