12 Secrets: Conquer!

12 Secrets of Highly Creative Women:

Secret #6 Conquering Saboteurs

"Money makes ze vorld go around, ze vorld go around! Money makes ze vorld go around-dat clinking clanking sound! It makes ze vorld go round..." --Cabaret
This chapter couldn't have come at a more tender moment. I've attempted to write this post several times, unsure of what to say, how or if I should even write on the topic. I'm embarrassed to say that I'm in the midst of a nearly week long pity party, being pricked with pointy gremlin pins that are making it hard to sleep or eat or even drag my bum into the studio without feeling ashamed.

My gremlins, or Harpies as I've pet named them, don't constantly berate me or gauge my talents--my Harpies appear in the form of constant financial panic.

My Harpies have eye-frying, snotty high school princess voices--the kind of voice that kills brain cells and stuns flying insects. They take joy in pushing in the pins. Lately, they can't seem to get in enough talk time:

"Um Hellooo, global recession anyone?? No one gives a s*** about cupcake paintings. You get to choose between making the green and surviving or being content and blissful in La la Land.

What's it going to be?"

"NO! Put that 53 cent donut DOWN! That's not in your grocery budget. You can't afford it, remember?"

"What the hell are you doing?! Why aren't you working right now?! Your checking account is draining and the clock is ticking! RED ALERT! Let's GO GO GO!"

"You know your Muffin told me that he resents you because you can't seem to get your S*** together, right? How long do you think the sheen and excitement of the Art-School-Girlfriend is going to last when your constantly leaning on him? It doesn't matter how pretty or smart you are if he has to financially babysit you. What the hell are you going to do when he leaves you? Curl up into a cardboard box and hope you die?"

"OKAY-Dr. Phil moment. Let's get real. Who the f*** is going to fork over their hard earned money to YOU , a NON graduate, to tell them how they too can live in a "bohemian paradise"? That's cute and sweet, but cute and sweet doesn't feed you, Dorthy.

This workshop is a T-I-M-E W-A-S-T-E-R.

The time you've flushed down the toilet typing could have been spent in a restaurant somewhere making minimum wage. At least minimum wage is SOMETHING. No one is going to sign up for this crap."

"Pssst. Yeah, uh, I know you're trying to sleep right now, but guess what? YOU'RE BROKE! And I mean, like, not kind of broke, but really broke. I just noticed that you hadn't thought about it in the last 30 seconds and wanted to keep you abreast on the issue. What do you plan on eating tomorrow? Oh yeah, and you haven't told Muffin that you can't afford the spring break trip you've been planning for the last year--put that on your To Do list tomorrow. Alright, sweet dreams..."

And perhaps the most painful and scathing of them all:

"You are a brat.

You are a naive BRAT.

Do you think you're special?

I bet you do, you think your special.

Why on Goddess' green earth do you think that YOU deserve to love what you do?

What about your Muffin?

What about your parents?

They work at jobs they loath,

jobs that are

hard,

dirty

and stressful

where they are under appreciated

and underpaid

but YOU,

oh no--you're special.

WAKE UP.

Buck up and get on the f***'n bus."

Owie.

I keep wincing as I write this, but I feel like this process and discussion is useless if we aren't honest. It hurts. It really hurts. But I hope that by acknowledging that my Harpies exist, I can do something constructive about them. I'm not sure what that "something constructive" is yet, but in the mean time, I've applied for more restaurant jobs in hopes of staying afloat. I realize I have a lot of years ahead of me to be happy, but right now making ends meet is a priority. Here's hoping I get a call. Hair nets Ahoy-hoy!

Wish me luck!

How do you swat away Harpies?