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ysobelleI know you have to break some eggs to make an omelette, and I know you have to spend money to make money. It's just that while yeah, I have some lovely jumbo eggs in the fridge, I'm nigh unto broke.
And I have to have a website.
I've had a lot of people say they'd help me, and I'm grateful for the offers, but as of yet, no one's actually come through. Certainly not at a price I can afford. I could stagger through Dreamweaver myself-- I have it-- but I don't have the basic knowledge or the patience. I also don't need a site that looks like it was created by someone who just learned Dreamweaver. It seems that I have the space now on my .Mac site. I have the domain. I even went over the design of the site with Lars years ago-- like he has the time to do it. But it has to get done. I have to figure out how.
Why the sudden rush? I'm sick to death of working for someone who doesn't appreciate me. And no, Jay, I don't mean you. I'm feeling grossly exploited by my job, I'm pissed off about it, and I'm thinking of leaving. I love having flexibility, and I love my customers, but I have a string of broken promises behind me now, and I could, at this point, as my manager what time it was, and she'd roll her fucking eyes at me. I don't feel like being the top seller at Christmas again while getting completely screwed over. Again. I love the actual job, and I despise the thought of job-hunting or going temp again, especially after a chilling article I just read in the Washington Post about how exploited temp workers on the whole are.
If I could find another fun, worthwhile retail job, I'd do that. I've been told I could sell a ketchup popsicle to a woman wearing white gloves. And I love the nifty jewelry and art glass we have. But I want somewhere I'm appreciated, possibly even-- gasp!-- promoted, and where my raise isn't an insult. It's taken me a very, very, very long time to be able to say, "I'm worth more." It's about damned time I started acting on that. So there.
I'll temp if I have to. I have an excellent record with my agencies, and they can find me stuff. Apparently, I can even get some manner of health insurance through one agency. But I want to be captain of my own ship. I don't want to have to go through this circus next year because I work Faire-- if you'll have me back, dear Reeder. And I want to know that I'm responsible for myself. When someone asks me what I do, I want to OWN saying that I'm a costumer and corsetiere, not say it and qualify it.
I'm feisty today. Perhaps it's just because I have to give the Toyota back this afternoon. Which is, I suppose, just as well. It's probably not a good idea to do 100mph on the Turnpike just because you can.
And I have to have a website.
I've had a lot of people say they'd help me, and I'm grateful for the offers, but as of yet, no one's actually come through. Certainly not at a price I can afford. I could stagger through Dreamweaver myself-- I have it-- but I don't have the basic knowledge or the patience. I also don't need a site that looks like it was created by someone who just learned Dreamweaver. It seems that I have the space now on my .Mac site. I have the domain. I even went over the design of the site with Lars years ago-- like he has the time to do it. But it has to get done. I have to figure out how.
Why the sudden rush? I'm sick to death of working for someone who doesn't appreciate me. And no, Jay, I don't mean you. I'm feeling grossly exploited by my job, I'm pissed off about it, and I'm thinking of leaving. I love having flexibility, and I love my customers, but I have a string of broken promises behind me now, and I could, at this point, as my manager what time it was, and she'd roll her fucking eyes at me. I don't feel like being the top seller at Christmas again while getting completely screwed over. Again. I love the actual job, and I despise the thought of job-hunting or going temp again, especially after a chilling article I just read in the Washington Post about how exploited temp workers on the whole are.
If I could find another fun, worthwhile retail job, I'd do that. I've been told I could sell a ketchup popsicle to a woman wearing white gloves. And I love the nifty jewelry and art glass we have. But I want somewhere I'm appreciated, possibly even-- gasp!-- promoted, and where my raise isn't an insult. It's taken me a very, very, very long time to be able to say, "I'm worth more." It's about damned time I started acting on that. So there.
I'll temp if I have to. I have an excellent record with my agencies, and they can find me stuff. Apparently, I can even get some manner of health insurance through one agency. But I want to be captain of my own ship. I don't want to have to go through this circus next year because I work Faire-- if you'll have me back, dear Reeder. And I want to know that I'm responsible for myself. When someone asks me what I do, I want to OWN saying that I'm a costumer and corsetiere, not say it and qualify it.
I'm feisty today. Perhaps it's just because I have to give the Toyota back this afternoon. Which is, I suppose, just as well. It's probably not a good idea to do 100mph on the Turnpike just because you can.