The Stealth Jam Gene… 6, December 2007Posted by babychaos in Art, careers, General Wittering, Life and living, Small Scale Disasters, whinging, winging, Work, writing.
Tags: brain dump, hormonal, hormonal rantings, Pregnancy Issues, pregnancy worries, pregnant and hormonal, ranting pregnant lady, scary thoughts while pregnant, when hormones make you a looner
I have fluked it a bit, today. I was meant to book a blood test for today or during the next 3 days which means I should have rung the surgery last week.
Needless to say I forgot and it was only because I was looking through my huge National Health pregnant lady’s folder, this morning, to find out what week I was supposed to book my Midwife’s appointment that I realised I was supposed to have it today.
Even so, somebody up there is obviously smiling on me because they had a cancellation for 12 o’clock which means I’m off the hook and despite being CFC* and generally cack I got to have them today, when I was supposed to, anyway! Mwa ha ha haaragh!
This was quite good for me. You see, I’ve been a bit down. I guess partly because I’ve been coming to terms with the fact that I’ve not made any money through my art, not sold any cards and that the shops that have taken them in town – plenty – are not selling them either. That the first novel in my trilogy, though nearly complete, is unlikely to make me the next JK Rowling and that, basically, I’m not going to make millions through any of my artistic talents, allowing my husband to give up his hateful, high stress, 24 hour a day, why won’t the fuckers ever leave us alone? job.
In other words, I can’t produce my cards for the kind of money people are prepared to pay – about £2.50 a pop or at least, not if I want to do it at anything over cost (25p a card). There is a market, I know there is a market because I canvassed a lot of people from all walks, ages and sizes of life and they all said they’d buy them if they saw them for sale. They’re not the famously tight East Anglian in the street, though and the only access I have to them is on-line… so I have 5o packs of Christmas Cards in my local shops, not selling and 200 packs here at home which I am spectacularly failing to sell as well.
Worse, not only does every fucker I talk to suggest I submit to Phoenix, who persistently tell me to sod off, but Phoenix works kind of like tupperware, kleeneze or the like in that they don’t sell in shops but through a network of agents who sell their cards at charity bazaars, schools or through coffee mornings at home. The net result being that not only do they not like my designs but when I find out about school fetes, church sales, bazaars etc the lady from Phoenix has always already booked and I am therefore barred on the “we only allow one card seller and it’s the lady from Phoenix” rule. Grrrr! For fuck’s sake!
Then something happens like this morning and I realise that I do have a special kind of luck. Ok, so unlike one of my sisters in-law, I’m not the kind of person who can write a book and meet a publisher at a dinner party the day I finish who thinks it’s so fantastic from my description, alone, that they swear to find me a children’s book deal on the spot – and I never will be that much of a jammy bastard (more’s the pity but I’m feeling this one particularly keenly at the moment having fallen foul bloody Phoenix again, only by a different route).
Then again I am able to sail through life, completely disorganised and inefficient, without nearly as many cock ups as there should be, including a number of things which I forgot about when I was at work which, if they’d turned out the way they should have, would have undoubtedly resulted in my getting the sack long before I was made redundant.
Throughout school, one of the few things I never got into do-do for – and trust me, my mere existence was enough to get me into do-do with many of my teachers – was forgetting to do my homework. Yes, ok so I had untidy handwriting which meant I would never get an A (because at school neatness and presentation is always more important than getting the right answer – just as being tidily dressed allows you to be the shittiest little bully on earth, make the lives of countless others a complete misery and still end up a prefect – not that I’m bitter and twisted or anything oops, put the baggage away BC, where was I? Oh yes…) I could tell the teacher I forgot and they would not only believe me but let it go so long as I did the work in lunch hour or by the next day. This when others would wind up in deepest, darkest poop.
So although I’m feeling a little disheartened because I have had to accept that I’m not going to earn my fortune doing things I’m good at because I’m too shit at selling them, completely lack any market analysis skills and don’t have the kind of luck required, either. Although, I’ve had to accept that my career is never going to be anything more than a hobby and that my priority is going to have to be all the things I loathe but do for love; housework, dusting, cleaning making the place tidy… more to the point, things I’m REALLY super-shit at. In the long run, I’m sure this stealthy, almost unnoticeable jamminess is a useful skill which counts for something…
Mr BC will be stuck in his job until he is 60 and there is nothing I can do to save him, all I can do is offer my crap support and keep up my hobbies of writing and drawing when I have time in the hope they’ll save me from becoming super-boring. The fact I fear this, worry I won’t measure up probably makes me super-selfish… Mr BC clearly has no such worries so at least that’s reassuring.
So… I guess I’ll just put my faith in the amazing properties of stealth jam and hope… oh yes… and tell myself it’ll get easier when I am not pregnant, with my hormones all shook up!
* CFC: Completely Fucking Crap!
Addendum: If you are pregnant, I suspect you will feel your own version of this at some point… I’m sure it’s exactly the same for me as it is for everyone else! If you are pregnant and actually ARE feeling like this right now… well… at least you know you’re not alone.