Just Like A Real Life Adult

I started my office job this week—well, sorta. Three days in, and we have yet to do a lick of work. That's okay, we get paid either way. And it's much cooler than any of us thought it would be. We're on the 28th floor in downtown Chicago, with a full wall of window that gives a view of the lake and (if I stand up) the river. I have my own work e-mail account, and my own phone with my own number and my own voice mail. We understood this is pretty long term for a temp position, but it's strange to us how much we get treated like this is more important and permanent than the data entry position it really is. My office has just me and one other guy, who's also a movie buff, which gives us no end of conversation topics during the eight hours a day we sit and do nothing. Next week will probably be different, though.

It's still fun getting to be a bouncer, too. It's a completely different work environment, and I get to toss drunken idiots out for almost the exact same pay (which is not good, but at least it's something) as when I sit at a computer all day. Each of these jobs is keeping me from stressing out about the other. Then again, one job is 9 a.m. to 5 p.m., and the other is 7 p.m. until 2 a.m. It's a good thing I don't do the night one very often, or I'd been two steps from dead by now.

But so far, it seems Chicago is being good to me, though the good parts come at the last possible moment. I'm doing what I should have done six years ago, and while it feels good to finally be doing it, I'm a little stressed over the fact that I haven't done this before now. But I try to ignore that which I cannot change.

It usually works.

Is it my turn yet?

The office job doesn't start until next Wednesday; fortunately, the Cubs did just well enough to let me work a few more days at the bar, so I was able to keep my head above water and keep most of the bill collectors off my back for another month.

I wonder how long I'm going to live like this? Credit card debt has trampled me for years, and I never figure out how to get it gone. It only ever gets worse. Obviously, I never learned what to do with my money properly when I had it. Now I'm making half what I used to and I'm still able to stay afloat, if barely—this means the last nine years I worked in Dallas I could have been putting half my income at my debt, into savings, or what have you, and never have to worry about money again.

Why is it we only figure out what we should have BEEN doing instead of what we should BE doing?

Am I going to figure it out before I die? Does anyone? Or do they just get lucky?

I'm glad to be up here with Heather, that's a fact. She's helping me out with rent—a fact that shames me a bit, but makes me honored to be with her. She knows how many times I sacrificed going after a career because of the impact it has on my financial situation, so she's making sure I don't have a lack of money as an excuse to not go out and audition for things in the evenings.

I'm worried, I'm scared, and I'm stressed, yet I am more fortunate than others.