A Quandary

I’m considering the merits of getting a second job. I’ve whinged often enough about my lack of funds and my need to get out more, but my circumstances make the whole affair far more complicated than “you need more money so go out and work for it.”

The biggest con is time. I’ve mentioned previously that my ultimate goal is to avoid taking part in the rat race. I’ve flirted with it for a couple of years and discovered that an office career just isn’t for me. To make money from something more worthwhile, I have to go out and do it – and that requires my evenings and weekends. So I have to take the time to learn to play the piano, to rehearse, to write songs. And I have to take the time to sit and write my novel. And I can’t just do these things on a casual basis, because you have to really work at anything you want to make a success of.

So that time is sacrosanct, which means that any time I spend out working behind a bar or another popcorn stand has to come out of what currently passes for my recreational time. And there’s the rub. I need more money so I can spend my time in pubs and clubs, but making that money stops me having the time to go to pubs and clubs. Furthermore, the net result will be that, although I’ll have money, I’ll be more overloaded as I try to balance two jobs and my other projects.

On the other hand, it looks very likely that I’ll be going back to university in October. The way my funds are prepared at the moment, I can cover everything but my food from my savings. To put it another way, I’ll need to take a part-time job to eat. Maybe looking for a second job now will get me set and ready to go before October hits. But of course, job-hunting takes time in itself and any time I spend job-hunting might be better spent looking for a job that pays me more to work the hours I do already.

So I’m in a quandary. I labour under the belief that I can manage anything so long as I plan my time right, but I know from experience that I’m not necessarily well enough to button down every minute of the day. I might still need to factor in time to just stop and take stock so I can avoid that black dog that keeps following me. Maybe the only reason I’m even considering a second job is that I’m afraid I might end up in a more stressful job than my current one. I want out, but I’m afraid of the consequences. One of my colleagues described where I am as a “fur-lined rut,” but I don’t think that’s true. I’m actually in a shit-lined rut, but at least the shit’s warm.


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