No Norway for YOU!
I can't go.
Why can't I go?
Because my husband has a way freaky job, we need the money, and childcare on the fly is not something this Mama has figured out. I can't afford to bring Sullivan with me. I can't figure out how he would be cared for in the absense of BOTH his parents and since Tom needs to take the work that means I stay home.
I had to quit a job that I loved because I couldn't work out the child care thing. If I had a sitter- she would make more than me.
Why the fuck is it that I would make an assload of money doing the same exact job that I do day in and day out if I was doing it for SOMEONE ELSE'S KID? My own kid? I get squat.
I have often joked that I am completely unemployable and that I have no useful skills, but the truth is I am so freaking smart and capable that it is a crime against a market driven society that I am not working. Of course, that is the part of me that is oh-so-punk-rock. I'm old school- there's no respect if you be cashin' a check.
Okay, so not since I was 15 has anyone ever connected me with punk and even then not so much. (But I was wicked hot and ultra cool even if it was only me and my Spam loving crowd that knew it) But I am really good at keeping my work from being tarnished by accepting cash for my talents. This is why, instead of spending my time working on a script that could actually make Broadway or Hollywood a more interesting landscape or creating a vehicle for myself that could show the world that an aging ingenue does not have to fade into the background I have been cleaning my house, going to the park, and set my inquiring mind to the question "How many creative crafts can one make with only popsicle sticks, cotton balls, sand and glue?" If I had had my shit together from day one, I might have had some kind of back up plan in case I wanted to, oh, I don't know, go to a wedding of a dear friend in Oslo! Instead, I've spent nearly four years getting screwed out of opportunities to do anything that I might actually enjoy.
I love my kid. He's an awesome kid. I would love to take him to Norway, but I can't afford it. Why? Because I don't have a job. Why? Because I can't afford the child care with the jobs I am actually qualified to do. Why? Because I am a trained actor and although I am exceedingly intelligent, organized, have great problem solving skills, and am a brilliant artist- I have yet to figure out how to make a living doing what I do best. Erego I have no money. Which means I have no childcare. Which means I don't work. Which means my brain and talent begins to atrophy. Which makes me depressed. Which means I need to take a break and go to a wedding in Norway. Which I won't get to go to because I don't have affordable or dependable childcare. Because I don't work. See how endless this stupid cycle is?
Notice how the husband's responsibilty in this cycle is non-existant.
Welcome to America.
Why can't I go?
Because my husband has a way freaky job, we need the money, and childcare on the fly is not something this Mama has figured out. I can't afford to bring Sullivan with me. I can't figure out how he would be cared for in the absense of BOTH his parents and since Tom needs to take the work that means I stay home.
I had to quit a job that I loved because I couldn't work out the child care thing. If I had a sitter- she would make more than me.
Why the fuck is it that I would make an assload of money doing the same exact job that I do day in and day out if I was doing it for SOMEONE ELSE'S KID? My own kid? I get squat.
I have often joked that I am completely unemployable and that I have no useful skills, but the truth is I am so freaking smart and capable that it is a crime against a market driven society that I am not working. Of course, that is the part of me that is oh-so-punk-rock. I'm old school- there's no respect if you be cashin' a check.
Okay, so not since I was 15 has anyone ever connected me with punk and even then not so much. (But I was wicked hot and ultra cool even if it was only me and my Spam loving crowd that knew it) But I am really good at keeping my work from being tarnished by accepting cash for my talents. This is why, instead of spending my time working on a script that could actually make Broadway or Hollywood a more interesting landscape or creating a vehicle for myself that could show the world that an aging ingenue does not have to fade into the background I have been cleaning my house, going to the park, and set my inquiring mind to the question "How many creative crafts can one make with only popsicle sticks, cotton balls, sand and glue?" If I had had my shit together from day one, I might have had some kind of back up plan in case I wanted to, oh, I don't know, go to a wedding of a dear friend in Oslo! Instead, I've spent nearly four years getting screwed out of opportunities to do anything that I might actually enjoy.
I love my kid. He's an awesome kid. I would love to take him to Norway, but I can't afford it. Why? Because I don't have a job. Why? Because I can't afford the child care with the jobs I am actually qualified to do. Why? Because I am a trained actor and although I am exceedingly intelligent, organized, have great problem solving skills, and am a brilliant artist- I have yet to figure out how to make a living doing what I do best. Erego I have no money. Which means I have no childcare. Which means I don't work. Which means my brain and talent begins to atrophy. Which makes me depressed. Which means I need to take a break and go to a wedding in Norway. Which I won't get to go to because I don't have affordable or dependable childcare. Because I don't work. See how endless this stupid cycle is?
Notice how the husband's responsibilty in this cycle is non-existant.
Welcome to America.
posted by Bree O'Connor at 11:52 AM
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