Cuz last year sucked. So hard.
To start 2015 off, my husband and I were broke. We were making better money than we had in a long time, but because it had been a while since we’d had any money, we were spending it faster than we could bring it in. And not on cool stuff that we’re still glad we bought. On lame stuff that we can’t even remember now.
And then I got the flu. Or a flu-like virus, anyhow. While I was sick, one of our 3 cats started acting funny. Not eating. Not sleeping. Lethargic. He was 21 years old and suffering from kidney disease, so we had to take him to the vet to put him to sleep. While I still had a fever. Crying your eyes out while feverish is not fun. I relapsed from the stress. One week later, on my birthday, while I was still feverish, our other cat started acting funny. She was 19 and suffering kidney disease. You guessed it. I spent my birthday at the vet, crying my eyes out and feverish.
Besides all that my day job had started to become a real grind. I’m in phone sales. Phone sales sucks. Try it sometime. There are some who like it, or at least don’t mind it. I am not one. I’m good at it, but I hate it. Since my husband and I were broke, I was busting my butt going in every day. I’m not a morning person. I’ve never liked working full time and have always been happy with living with less so that I can have more time to do things like go for walks in the woods and sleep in and write books. But when the bill collectors are knocking, they don’t care if you’d rather go for a walk in the woods or sleep in, they want money. So I was hauling my ass up first thing in the morning (ugh) to go to a phone sales job (ugh) for 40 hours a week (ugh ugh ugh). I was miserable, but no one really seemed to want to hear it. My boss even said “you can do anything for 8 hours a day.” By mid-July, I started having panic attacks.
Now, if you know anything about me, you probably know I had an anxiety disorder for the first 20 years of my life. I fought hard and worked on myself relentlessly to get over my anxieties and stop having panic attacks. Suddenly having them again after almost 20 years free and clear made me feel like the last 20 years of my life had been a lie, that I would never be free of them, that my anxiety disorder could never be cured, as I thought it had been, and everything I’d fought for was in vain.
I went to the doctor. I made an appointment with a psychiatrist. I cut my hours back at work much to my husband’s protests and dismay. It didn’t really help. I was still miserable, we were still broke, I still hated my job and my cats were still dead. I started looking for another job. I had several interviews and got no job offers, except for one guy who asked me to apply for the seasonal position his company offered. I didn’t. I’m a grown ass woman with debts. Seasonal does not cut it.
I started attending meditation classes. I’ve mentioned that I’m a practicing witch a few times — I did some spells. A friend and I started meeting for weekly coffee and dance sessions, and one day while out walking in the park with her, I said, I have all these skills and talents. Why can’t I make any damn money? What if I started using everything I know how to do and tried to make a living that way? Any one of them alone might not be enough, but all of them together might. She said, I think you should.
So I started 3 small businesses in addition to my book writing. I talked to my boss at the sales job and became a float — able to pick up more hours if I need them, able to take on less if I need to. I lost my health insurance. I lost my PTO. I didn’t care.
And I still don’t. I’m making less money now and I’m way busier. But it’s working. My husband and I both started being more careful with the money coming in, because it’s not much and it has to go a long way. We’re making less money, but we’re less broke. I go into the sales job a few days a week, generally not for more than 5 hours. I sleep in. I go for walks. My small businesses are still micro, and I am running around for all of them, but they make me happy. I like doing them. And I am earning money.
No more panic attacks. In fact, a few weeks ago, I remembered what it was like to feel happy. Not grateful in a moment, but truly as if things were going well, had been going well, and would continue to go well.
So I finished another book. And then another. Amazing how much you simply cannot write fiction when your heart is a small black lump of misery.
And now it is a new year. I’m starting this one off with 4 small businesses that I enjoy managing, less stress, more books, and hopefully more to come.
Now I just need some more cats.
