July of 2012 was when my divorce was officially finalized. It marked the end of a decade, but the beginning of my liberation. I spent a year trying to recover from financial ruin. I worked very hard. I worked two jobs. Last month, when I officially earned a paycheck for my writing, I felt like I had climbed to the top of the mountain. This wasn't something I had just desired for the past year, it was a dream I've wanted my entire life. I wanted it more than anything--to be a "real" writer; paid for my work. The last three weeks have been bliss even though there was a little slack in the pay, but it was going to catch up on this next paycheck. Then, things would not only be better financially, I would be writing for my job. It was hardly work as I anticipated each new article I would be assigned. This is what I had hoped for so that I could spend more time with my babies. I was like a balloon soaring high into the skies. It was a beautiful view from up in the sky.
My editor wrote me yesterday. Google changed their rankings. No more inundating the internet with organic articles. Too many would hurt the clients rankings instead of help. The simple bottom line was that there would not be anymore writers in the main stream pool. My job, my paid writing job, was gone. My balloon hit a wire. It popped. It plummeted. It deflated as it hit the ground.
I'm at the library now after taking two buses and 42 minutes to get here to return a book. The library closes an hour earlier than I thought it would and I forgot my book. I rode again and remember the faces of struggle I saw before, but they don't enlighten me like they did last summer. They don't motivate me. They make me sad. I left these people, and yes I do feel for them. Everyone has their struggles and I'm sure they have dreams too, but could any of them want to be a writer more than me? Did anyone take 42 years to doubt themselves until someone said they would pay them to write? I can't discount their lives. I don't know what they are going through. This time, I don't want to ask. I'm sulking and making my disappointment the center of the universe.
I was so close to walking across the financial bridge. I could see the light at the end of the tunnel and it was a bright light. I was going towards the light. I had to use the last little bit of my meager $700 savings to pay a lawyer for my custody court on Tuesday. On Wednesday, when I left to run errands my car was gone. Apparently, I didn't get across that bridge in time. This paycheck was going to fix that. That was a rough day as I tried to figure out how I would transport the kids back and forth. I worked it out though. I put a smile on my face and was grateful for the direct bus route that led from my house to theirs all the way across town. It's unusual, in fact nearly impossible for something like that to happen in Vegas. That was something to be thankful for. I calculated how much money I would be saving in gas, insurance, car payments to be made up, and maintenance. Hey, I was going to save a ton of money! My family offered a vehicle. I had to options: one I could use for free; and one I could purchase with low payments. I went to sleep that night feeling exhausted, but grateful. I am always grateful.
The dream of being a writer was so sweet, so close. I can't go back to a regular job when I have tasted what has created an addiction. I have to figure out how to find my way back to the oasis.
[To be continued...]
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