Fine Whines

Earning money is hard. Oh, not the work - I'm always okay with work - but the calls, the schmoozing, the assurance to parents that I know what I'm doing. Increasingly, even when I'm presented with a fait accompli (a student who's asked for me specifically, for example) I have to do a ton of calling - scheduling, rescheduling, juggling, even butt-kissing - and about 30% of the parents still change their minds. Usually right before the first session. Especially these days. Despite all of the rigamarole, even with the default rate looming, I'm pretty well set for the rest of the summer - bill-paying, over-paying, and London-saving are all secure.

I should be happy. Instead I'm tired.

I don't know if it's age or hormones or burnout, but I want something a bit more ... idiot proof. Don't get me wrong: I'm grateful - part of me is dancing in my chair because I'll survive another summer after all (and grateful that I trusted Mama Angel). But another, bigger (this year) part is snivelling that I've paid my dues, that I deserve better, easier, or at least a raise. Paid sick days. Paid vacation days. An even, non-bumpy, non-seasonal schedule.

No job is perfect. I'm not stupid - I really do know that everyone has deadlines, scheduling conflicts, late nights at some point or another. And I know I'm better off than much of the country right now - I have a job that pays me better than the average Bunny, one that keeps us solvent, and me with an age group I truly adore. And yet ... I just can't seem to shake it this time.

This week will tell the tale. I searched for jobs in my area, ones that will match my current salary (within a year or two, in some cases), give me benefits, and not interfere with my weekend hunting. I found fifteen without breaking a sweat. But they won't simply come to me; no, I have to work some more - writing a resume, posting said resume, more phone calls ... things requiring more focus and energy than I can seem to muster lately. Only time will tell if I actually do it.

Truth is, what I really want is a lottery win, a forgotten relative leaving me her fortune, a small-but-tasteful genie in one of the bottles I find at a flea market - you know, a rescue.

But that would make me a Damsel in Distress, wouldn't it?

Yeah, right - like that's gonna happen.