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There will be talk of money here. Not much money, really. But it's gauche to speak of moolah in America (heh, how screwy is that?) so I'm cutting it. Is it true that a sharp increase in income produces stress? I think I read that somewhere, once, but blew a raspberry of disbelief and consigned the idea to myth. Now I'm thinking that maybe it's true.
My income is rising sharply. This is good. And in a slightly dizzy way, I'm jazzed that all the work I've been doing is finally yielding re$ults. But I'm totally freelance now, which means that a big chunk of everything I get isn't mine. If I don't want to end up like many of my gifted but feckless friends, I need to set aside half of everything that comes in the mail. Half. Part of that for the taxman, part for the IRA. Okay, I can do that. I've been doing that. I even have an accountant.
Why am I climbing the wainscotting? Why is my jaw so tight my teeth are turning to powder?
This isn't a lot of money. It's not like I won the lottery. But maybe I've been so used to being poor, the last many non-Sony years, that it's freaky on a basic level of habit. Change is unsettling? I'm used to not wanting things -- in fact, I don't want much. But now I can get some things, in theory (though I shouldn't, because of the taxman. EVERY SPARE DIME MUST GO INTO A TAX FREE ACCOUNT.) I could get a new desk. I need a new desk.
Agh, this is disgusting. I was a nun. Here I am talking about a new desk. A new desk! This piece of shit is perfectly servicable, and I say that without sarcasm. When did I change so much? When did I become a person who got a bit of money and immediately had to grapple with the urge to buy a desk? Bah, to me, from me.
Also a little spazztastic from coloring the Booker T Washington cover. I'm trying really, really hard. Too hard. I tried so hard I got the smudge-tool face of death on the first try, and had to kill it all and start over. This version's a bit better, but my jaw's so grindy from the spaz I think I'll take a break while the breaking's good.
The desk isn't servicable. It's too small. I need to look at reference when I'm doing stuff like the stuff I'm doing now, and there's no place to put it. It's driving me bonkers.
I wish I could share![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
irfikos' amazing invitation to her Firefly party. It's like a wee brillant gem. I've been keeping it near me, it's just that cool. irfikos ought to upload the files, kaff, kaff. It's a lovey thing.
My income is rising sharply. This is good. And in a slightly dizzy way, I'm jazzed that all the work I've been doing is finally yielding re$ults. But I'm totally freelance now, which means that a big chunk of everything I get isn't mine. If I don't want to end up like many of my gifted but feckless friends, I need to set aside half of everything that comes in the mail. Half. Part of that for the taxman, part for the IRA. Okay, I can do that. I've been doing that. I even have an accountant.
Why am I climbing the wainscotting? Why is my jaw so tight my teeth are turning to powder?
This isn't a lot of money. It's not like I won the lottery. But maybe I've been so used to being poor, the last many non-Sony years, that it's freaky on a basic level of habit. Change is unsettling? I'm used to not wanting things -- in fact, I don't want much. But now I can get some things, in theory (though I shouldn't, because of the taxman. EVERY SPARE DIME MUST GO INTO A TAX FREE ACCOUNT.) I could get a new desk. I need a new desk.
Agh, this is disgusting. I was a nun. Here I am talking about a new desk. A new desk! This piece of shit is perfectly servicable, and I say that without sarcasm. When did I change so much? When did I become a person who got a bit of money and immediately had to grapple with the urge to buy a desk? Bah, to me, from me.
Also a little spazztastic from coloring the Booker T Washington cover. I'm trying really, really hard. Too hard. I tried so hard I got the smudge-tool face of death on the first try, and had to kill it all and start over. This version's a bit better, but my jaw's so grindy from the spaz I think I'll take a break while the breaking's good.
The desk isn't servicable. It's too small. I need to look at reference when I'm doing stuff like the stuff I'm doing now, and there's no place to put it. It's driving me bonkers.
I wish I could share
irfikos' amazing invitation to her Firefly party. It's like a wee brillant gem. I've been keeping it near me, it's just that cool. irfikos ought to upload the files, kaff, kaff. It's a lovey thing.
no subject
I struggle (sometimes) with non-essential stuff for everyday living space, but I never skimp on work stuff like a good chair, desk, lamp, computer, etc. And by "never skimp" I mean I get things that are rather more expensive than I probably should be allowing myself to spend (although I am always very careful to set aside more than enough money for taxes).
However:
a) these are also legitimate and (at least partially) deductible business expenses, and
b) they are really investments in my health and well-being. Time saved by having enough space/the proper storage facilities for books and documents I need, a good chair that will keep me from suffering back problems down the line, good lighting for my eyes. A smoothly functioning computer system is the number one priority since all my work lives there.
Since I--like you--often spend 20 hours in my work space, these things are not extravagances, they're necessities.
Well, plus, pretty! ;)
So I say, go for a new desk. You don't have to go crazy with it, but something truly functional and aesthetically pleasing will make your life a whole lot easier, and happier.
no subject
Sound advice, thank you! Though I must hang back, chewing my nails, until I hear from the accountant. God, tax time. Ther has to be a way to reduce my ignorance and stress level.