This is not the huge step it might first appear, since I was only working one day a week at the college I'm at, and the other work I do is my own private tutoring/workshop thing, a business I have kicked up in the last couple of months to allow this move. I'll spare you the whiny financial details of the reason for that. Sufficient to say that, now, should you wish to employee me to do anything workshop or educational for you, feel free to email me with offers of copious amounts of cash. You could have done that beforehand, mind, but since no one has ever done it, I can only assume it's because you all think I'm wealthy and enjoying my island paradises. Which, of course, is true. Hence why you must offer me a lot of cash to leave and grace you with my presence.
It's funny, in a strange way, but the other night I was thinking that sick benefits would be nice, or even holiday pay. I see people with holiday pay. It looks very reassuring. I imagine: you go away and your job keeps paying you. How strange. After all, I'm thirty and I've never had that, which might explain why I don't take many holidays. But I suppose I ought to face up to the fact that, as I've been told for years now, I don't actually want a regular job, and a safe, reliable income, in at least the way that some jobs are so long as you're a warm body to fill a spot. I suppose that's a bit of a cynical way to look at it, but there's nothing terribly fulfilling or appealing to jobs out there for me, and to maintain some kind of happiness, I need that out of a job I do. Some people don't. For me, the hours just don't add up to justify wasting my life in it.
The real odd thing to me, however, is that I've actively chosen not to push writing into a job I could live off. There's a lot of freelance work out there, writing articles, doing shitty instruction manuals, and all of that, and in the few times I've done it, I've found the work horribly depressing, and not at all what I want to be doing. I'm very specific about what I write, since it has to have some interest to me to justify the time spent on it, and while that is horribly self indulgent and smacks of art and precious behaviour, and will ensure that I remain the obscure and unknown figure of literature that I have spent twelve years becoming, it's what makes me happy, and in the end that's all that matters. With teaching, however, I'm willing to go anywhere, and teach anything--so long as it's reasonably in my field of knowledge--and I am, honestly, a total whore in it. If there's no cash, I don't go, which, incidentally, is a rule I do have for writing, but it's a rule that I'll break, or take less cash on, if there's interest on my part; the rule is pretty much set in stone for teaching and workshops.
Anyhow, the result of this move in my personal life--and some other shit we'll leave out here--means that I'm behind on everything else. Fucking A.