Eugh
what a fucking day so far. Amidst booking some shows for Melbourne
Fringe in a few weeks, and lining up a venue for Adelaide Fringe in
February, I just got a call from the Melbourne manager of I'm Free
Tours – the company I was hoping to start guiding with – telling
me that the owner's of the company in Sydney have laid down the law
and said that they won't take guides who aren't from the city they're
doing tours in. Fuck.
This once again throws my financial situation into sharp focus, as my savings slowly diminish by around $50 a week and no new cashflow comes in... fuck I have to send James my invoice for this weeks work. Fuck I have to send centrelink my earnings report. Fuck, I missed a PVS appointment yesterday. Fuck Fuck Fuck. I honestly only remembered those things just now, as I wrote them. You are witnessing my life's inner shudders live, reported direct from the ground.
I fucking hate worrying about money – I don't hate not HAVING any money, I just hate that I'm the one who has to worry about my own finances. If someone were to just tell me, “hey fuckhead, here's how much money you have to spend every week for the next six months, now shut up and live off beans.” I'd be happy. I'd be so happy. I'd buy five-hundred cans of fucking beans and keep them next to my old shirts in my chest of drawers, and ever breakfast I'd take out one of the cans, open it, eat half, and then give the rest to neighbourhood cats, because I'm a nice fucking guy, and because I don't even like beans anyway. I just want to stop thinking about money. It's infuriating.
So medical testing is, once again, looking like the most viable option. In Fed Square a few days ago I had a chance run-in with the lovely Tanya from Britain who I had met a few times MCing burlesque shows at Club Voltaire in the past few months, and she told me she has the contact details for the Melbourne equivalent of Adelaide's CMAX and would pass them on to me – I just sent her a text pestering her to that effect. Stick your tubes in me, you strange men of science, I require assistance.
My recent spending in the aesthetics department has probably not helped my financial situation, but has definitely boosted my image of myself, adding to my already dangerously swollen confidence. I feel that this, along with my fidgeting, twitchy amounts of energy will be the only thing that gets me through the next twelve months which are shaping up to be. That's all I have to say for now, but look forward to my next post later today, which I am very excited about after conceiving of last night. Ha-ha, ha-ha, twitch, shudder, involuntary movement.
Peace, Taco.
This once again throws my financial situation into sharp focus, as my savings slowly diminish by around $50 a week and no new cashflow comes in... fuck I have to send James my invoice for this weeks work. Fuck I have to send centrelink my earnings report. Fuck, I missed a PVS appointment yesterday. Fuck Fuck Fuck. I honestly only remembered those things just now, as I wrote them. You are witnessing my life's inner shudders live, reported direct from the ground.
I fucking hate worrying about money – I don't hate not HAVING any money, I just hate that I'm the one who has to worry about my own finances. If someone were to just tell me, “hey fuckhead, here's how much money you have to spend every week for the next six months, now shut up and live off beans.” I'd be happy. I'd be so happy. I'd buy five-hundred cans of fucking beans and keep them next to my old shirts in my chest of drawers, and ever breakfast I'd take out one of the cans, open it, eat half, and then give the rest to neighbourhood cats, because I'm a nice fucking guy, and because I don't even like beans anyway. I just want to stop thinking about money. It's infuriating.
So medical testing is, once again, looking like the most viable option. In Fed Square a few days ago I had a chance run-in with the lovely Tanya from Britain who I had met a few times MCing burlesque shows at Club Voltaire in the past few months, and she told me she has the contact details for the Melbourne equivalent of Adelaide's CMAX and would pass them on to me – I just sent her a text pestering her to that effect. Stick your tubes in me, you strange men of science, I require assistance.
My recent spending in the aesthetics department has probably not helped my financial situation, but has definitely boosted my image of myself, adding to my already dangerously swollen confidence. I feel that this, along with my fidgeting, twitchy amounts of energy will be the only thing that gets me through the next twelve months which are shaping up to be. That's all I have to say for now, but look forward to my next post later today, which I am very excited about after conceiving of last night. Ha-ha, ha-ha, twitch, shudder, involuntary movement.
Peace, Taco.
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