Clockpuncher

This morning, after 12+ hours of glorious, back-from-the-dead sleep....I was late to work. And I hate being late. It makes me so anxious, puts my stomach in knots, and causes curse words to explode from my mouth like lava from Dante's Peak (but my mood is never so sour that I can't slip in a sweet 90s disaster flick reference- just don't leave grandma in the acid water).

Time got away from me, and I ended up having to take a cab and still being 15 minutes late. Thank God my co-workers are totally awesome and acknowledged that this kind of nonsense happens to everybody at some point.

I hated to be late not only because it makes me feel awful, but because I really love my new job and don't want to mess anything up! It's been a long time since I've felt that way too.

During tax time, it's not unusual for people in the arts to sudden have a dozen W-4s show up at their door. We move and travel, take lots of small gigs for long or short periods of time in order to make our lives work, to pursue our passions.

I am nearly 30 years old. And I have held over 30 jobs.

I'm not going to list them here. For those stories you'll have to purchase the book (when it gets published, of course) that my friend A and I are writing together. Maybe it will even start as a blog. Isn't that how she did it in Julie & Julia? Obviously I take all my life cues from Meryl Streep films.We're figuring it out, but it's going to be super awesome! Shameless publicity for a product that doesn't even exist in completed form yet! Hooray!

But when people ask "What do you do?" The answer is something in the ballpark of "I'm an artist and a clockpuncher. Only one of them pays my electric bill." Then I go on to explain whatever my most recent clockpunching gig is. It's been retail management. Teaching. Waitressing. Reception. Executive Assisting. Visual merchandising. And so on (buy the book that's not done yet!) Not all the jobs were rough - some were great! I loved teaching in the summer. Even though I don't think of myself as a teacher, it was an awesome time. Probably because the kids weren't used to having someone tell them like it is, which is my big mouth at work specialty. For example I had a really troubled student who was disruptive, explosively tempered with his classmates, and just wanted to mess around and not actually learn. He turned in what was supposed to be a 1-page reflection on something we had done in class, but was instead 3 lines on ripped, dirty paper. During our student-teacher conference, I silently pulled out the assignment, showed him what it was, and crumpled it into a ball in front of him.
"This is garbage." I said. "Never turn in something like this to me again."
The other students, on the whole, were terrific. Really great, smart young people who were psyched to learn about theatre. I've kept in touch with a bunch of them, and it's very rewarding to hear about the schools they're going to, the plays they're in, and how much they're loving high school. It's great.

For years and years I thought I could be ok doing anything, as long as I had time to write or perform. I did a lot of shitty jobs for slaves wages. I lived paycheck to paycheck, frequently walked everywhere to avoid buying a Metrocard, and more times than I'd like to admit, had a ketchup sandwich (it's exactly what it sounds like) for dinner. I was never on the verge of being homeless or anything, and my parents have always had my back should emergency strike (and it did) but I wasn't exactly rolling in the dough. I'm a very thrifty person, and I'm continually working to accrue savings, and be careful with my expenditures.

But this year, the perfect storm of instances caused me to take a long hard look at how I was living the majority of my life. The company I had been working for was bought out by thoroughly unpleasant people, and those of us with higher salaries were forced out via cuts and a miserable work environment. Suddenly, I was back to square one, two years and a plan down the drain. Along with a large number of my peers, I was unemployed. And I was scared sick. I pounced on the first offer that came to me, which turned out to be assisting a washed up alcoholic millionairess from the claustrophobic pen of her apartment. That lasted 2 weeks. Back to sheer terror. Not eating much. Staying home most of the time.

And then I woke up.
And I got very, very lucky due to the generosity of friends, real dear people who watch out for me.

I realized that I didn't want to do crappy jobs for bad money. That freedom of time suddenly didn't matter, because I wasn't getting any writing done. The hustle of working all those jobs had left me with no time to persue my passions anyway. I wanted stability. And security. The rest of it I would figure out in time, but I wanted, and desperately needed, to grow the fuck up.

Friends heard of a job in their office and passed it along to me. And that is where I have found my grown up job, and a new happiness. I have a big-girl paycheck, with health, dental and a 401k to back it up. I am not going to work with dread or fear. I adore my colleagues, enjoy the projects I am given, and am grateful beyond words. Apparently, there is even room to grow in this company! And it's not all in New York, should I need to seek out new places. It's a whole world of possibility and I'm really excited for all of it. Fingers crossed. And the best part is now....I am writing again. Suddenly, the 9-5 isn't a trap, it's the new freedom I was looking for.