Tag: career

DIY Hell

General Sherman once famously said that war is hell, and this is undoubtedly true. But so too are DIY projects.

Here’s the problem: I don’t come from mechanically-inclined stock. My people aren’t good with our hands. We don’t build things.

And yet, HGTV and design blogs have apparently warped my mind. They managed to convince me that DIY projects are as easy as they look; that I could definitely take one on and succeed. They erased my knowledge of the fact that construction — of literally anything more complex than baking a cake from a boxed mix — is simply not in my blood. And that’s how I decided to DIY myself a new desk.

This was foolish. Unwise. An act of total hubris and naivete. I did it at my peril.

And it turned out really, really fucking badly.

difficult lemon difficult

This is how it went down: the desk I’ve been using for the past three years, while fine, has a low clearance — so low that I can’t cross my legs while facing forward. Since I’m going to be working and writing from home once I leave my job (IN FIVE WEEKS!), I knew I couldn’t continue to use a desk that causes me to contort myself like a Cirque du Soleil member just to find a marginally comfortable way to sit.

I spent untold hours looking for a desk that would work — the right dimensions, not ugly, etc. — and happened to stumble on a desk that made me audibly gasp with delight when I saw it. No lie. I had a Sofia Vergara moment, during which I exclaimed, out loud, “I loooooooooooooooove it!”

jacqueline-maldonado-the-sound-desk-portrait-white-background-SQUARE-aston-gold_1024x1024
Here it is, dear reader: the desk of my dreams.

And then I saw the price tag ($429) and nearly died. I’ve never spent that much on a piece of furniture all for myself, and I buy nearly everything at Target, Marshall’s, and TJ Maxx. $429 for a desk seemed like outright heresy.

So I decided to try and make something I might like — although I knew I wouldn’t love it like the expensive one, I’d still like it — for much less. I went to The Container Store, got some Elfa shelves, desktop, and legs, and got to work.

Following the instructions from various blogs — all of which are lying liars which spread vicious, dirty lies about DIY projects being simple and oh-so-realistic — and the guidance of my mother-in-law (who thankfully is legit gifted when it comes to crafting, design, and DIY projects), I sanded and spray painted the legs. I got contact paper for the desk top. I figured I had it all under control. Easy peasy lemon squeezy!

Except that the spray paint was running down the desk legs in kind of a wonky, icky pattern. And the contact paper didn’t fit on the shelves or desk top I’d gotten. So I looked for other kinds of contact paper, but everything was fugly. Nothing was going to work without costing a ton of money. And I was starting to freak out and lose sleep over this.

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Death by DIY.

At this juncture, Brandon made an excellent point: not only were we not going to wind up saving money, but I was losing hours of time trying to figure out how to make this godforsaken project work.

“Look, dude,” he said while trying to get me to stop hyperventilating, “you’ve got your regular job plus your freelance job. You’re preparing to leave your regular job and make a huge career transition. You haven’t got the time or energy to keep working on this thing. Let’s just get the desk you love. I know it’s expensive, but I think it’s actually worth it.”

“But, but, but,” I protested while swallowing huge gulps of air, “It’s expensive! I’m about to leave my job! It’s ridiculous to spend that much on a desk, even if it makes my heart sing every time I see it!”

“I know. But babe, we’re not saving money by you doing this DIY thing. You need to get more materials, and the stuff you’d need in order to make this work — in order to make it be adequate — will cost almost as much as getting a desk you adore.”

Welp. You can’t really argue with that logic.

So that, my friends, is the story of how my dear husband retrieved me from DIY hell. I bought the gorgeous desk (helpfully, I was able to get a 20 percent discount — so I didn’t feel like barfing when I placed the order), and it should be here in 3-4 weeks. Satan and his DIY minions no longer have me in their clutches.

not today satan

But you guys, please: promise you’ll never again allow me to think that a DIY project is worth doing. Like, ever. Someone, please, promise you’ll have me taken out back and shot before I ever try to do this again. Kthxbai.

XOXOXO,
Lillian

Big News

So…I’ve got big news (ya know, as evidenced by the title): I quit my job.

This is something I’ve been wanting to do for a long time — I’ve been unhappy in my career for aaaaages — but given all the health shenanigans of the last few years, it just wasn’t possible. Once things stabilized, Brandon (the hubs) and I started laying the groundwork: I started a side gig doing freelance writing, and we began setting aside extra savings.

I originally planned to hold on until the end of the calendar year, if not a bit longer, just to get some extra savings built up before noping out of there — but then my mental health just kind of…tanked.

You know how a person can be running a marathon/other super long distance race that I can’t even begin to fathom, and sometimes their body just quits? Everything shuts down, and they can’t take another step. It’s a total system collapse: no matter how badly they want to keep going and how hard they’re trying, it’s simply not going to happen. They’ve hit a biological wall.

For me it was like that, but with my mental health. I’ve been pushing myself for so long, and suddenly I was unequivocally, irrevocably done. I felt it down to my bones — on a visceral, cellular level — that neither my psyche nor my soul could continue without a clearly defined end in sight. There they were, splayed out on the pavement and trying to crawl towards a finish line that didn’t yet exist. Recognizing that this was a precipitous decline in my mental health, the truth became clear: I had to create a finish line, and I had to do it now.

To keep grinding, pushing, and just generally pulverizing myself would be enormously harmful, and I can’t let that happen. I’ve already been through, and lost, entirely too much to let myself fall victim to harm that I have the power to prevent. It’s one thing to be trapped, but it’s an entirely different beast to remain imprisoned when the one thing standing between me and freedom is courage.

I’ve always felt like courage and bravery are my greatest weaknesses — I’m anxious, risk averse, and being brave doesn’t come easily to me at all — and I know now is the time for me to take the leap of faith that I’ve been aching for for such a long time. Leaps of faith aren’t usually my thing (I like lists, and lists about my lists, and plans, and risk mitigation strategies, and at least attempting to have my shit together), but it’s time.

I’m going to stay until the end of October, just so I have time to wrap up my projects, jump through the flaming hoops of bureaucratic out-processing, and generally try not to leave a huge mess in my wake.

But after that? I leap.

 

Our actions and decisions today will shap
This is what I keep trying to remind myself, at least. If it’s a quote on the internet it has to be true, right?! 
Mama* Needs a New Job, Like, Yesterday.

Mama* Needs a New Job, Like, Yesterday.

One of my big goals — nay, one of my primary goals — in renovating my life is to somehow, by the grace of God/Oprah/the Flying Spaghetti Monster, transition from my career in government to a career that’s more my style.

I may or may not be willing to sacrifice a goat and/or make a burnt offering in an effort to help make this happen.

I’ve been trying to investigate possible avenues for this aspiring career change, since a lukewarm, limp, and — ok, I admit — really whiny “I dooooon’t knoooooow?” isn’t a great answer to questions about what, if not government and public policy, I want to do with my life. All I know for sure is that I want my work to involve writing, autonomy, creativity, and being able to serve as a catalyst for good in the world. Beyond that, though? The details elude me.

dafuq
An actual photo of me when people ask what I want to be when I grow up. Except that I have dark hair. And I’m 36. But that’s not the point.

Well, ok, that’s not entirely true. The full truth is that I want to be a writer. I’ve been in love with words since I was a child; I remember desperately  wanting to learn how to read because I knew my whole world would change once I did, and I used to beg my teachers for extra creative writing assignments when I was in grade school. There have only been two things that I’ve consistently always known I want to be when I grow up: a writer and a mom.

Hooooowever, I’m also a realist, and we all know that unless one is an extremely successful novelist like, say, J.K. Rowling (whom I admire and adore), that writing generally doesn’t pay the bills. So, while I’d love to just…be a writer, the reality is that freelance writing isn’t exactly reliable or lucrative. And, since I have enough student loan debt to sink a fleet of aircraft carriers, and since I also enjoy things such as having food and a nice place to live, a gal’s got to make money somehow.

With that in mind, I’m investigating a handful of ideas for jobs that a) I might enjoy, and b) can pretty reliably pay the bills: content marketing, social media marketing, grant writing, college essay tutoring, and copyediting. That list might expand  — or contract — as I learn more, but for now, information gathering is my primary game plan. My hope is that I can build multiple streams of income so that I will, to use finance speak, diversify my portfolio. You know, balance risk and reward, remain agile, all that jazz.

(Although really, I ran far and fast from any sort of math class once I was done with high school, and I never once looked back — so maybe I should give the finance metaphors a rest?)

Anyways, aaaallllll that being said, yesterday’s Act of Renovation was to visit my friendly local career center to review my resume with people who are Legit Authorities (TM) on this sort of career voodoo. Mercifully, these people are incredibly helpful. They’ve been helping me though each painful, bewildering step of editing my resume from a Lumbering, Bland, and Bureaucratic Government Resume, which is loaded with arcane D.C.- and government-centric terms, into a Nimble, Witty, and Modern Private Sector Resume (also TM…but not really, I just like making proper nouns out of things that don’t warrant capitalization in real life). You know, one that can actually be read and understood by normal people outside the Beltway.

The woman I met with not only really liked my first round of changes (yay!), she also had some insightful suggestions for my next iteration revisions (double yay!). So, I have myself an Act of Renovation for later in the week, too.

We on the rise, y’all.

* Oh yeah, and I’m not actually a mom, despite weirdly referring to myself as Mama. That whole cancer thing kind of deep-sixed my grand maternal plans, but that’s a topic for another post.