I’m sitting here distracted trying to write but all I can think of is that the rent is due and my clients are late in paying.
I’m anxious. Waiting for the alert. Pacing. Twittering. I feel like a caged lion. I’m going to go do some yoga in a minute. Soon as I complete my allotted morning writing.
I spent 2 hours planning my writing this week. All part of the writing discipline. I hate the word discipline. Today’s post is supposed to explore my earliest career objectives to provide some context for later posts . I’m timing myself too. The allotted time only.
How did I get here? Worrying about my rent? Man woman palava in the work place. Its not the first time its happening either.
I quit a banking job almost two decades ago because my boss who had been proposing to make me his fourth wife dared to berate me for a weekend I had spent in Owerri hounding my brother in law for deposits to be with ‘your boyfriends’.
I was indignant. How dare you? I work hard for my money. For this bank. I have to dodge your fucking bullets all the time and you berate me for how I spend my personal time? How dare you! I told him off and resigned. There and then. I was also smarting for not getting a promotion I felt I deserved.
‘Is it because I have refused to have sex with you? Nonsense’ H R tried to stop me. I wouldn’t have it. Before you applaud I lost my home and custody of my kids as a consequence. I didn’t have enough evidence for a case in the judicial dark ages of the 90’s.
I started my own business eventually to get away from the groping hands and leering faces of bosses in the ‘private sector’. True true they often act like their fucking entitled to some!
I spent the next 10 years as a small business owner and entrepreneur. Chasing dreams of socially responsible enterprises. That’s a whole another post. When I returned to the job market I was lured by the thought that work at a foreign organisation was somehow ‘safer’ for me as a woman.
In less than 3 years I had achieved the objectives of my 5 year plan. I was country director of a major foreign aid agency. How did it all fall apart? Another case of man woman palava in the work place. I tire. Not again? Okay. This is Oxfam. There is protection from victimisation. Right? That is also the subject for a whole other post.
Losing my job became part of my mid life crisis because I had to decide whether to pick up my career. Or change direction. I looked back at my earliest dreams and aspirations. Did I ever really want to be an employee?
The truth is No. I always saw myself as the employer. A job to meant safety and financial security but also conformity and stagnation. You do what the boss says you can do no matter how brilliant and clever and out of the box you think you are. I’m a subversive and compulsive risk taker.
I realize it didn’t matter to me what I did. The only thing I’m passionate about right now is writing (other than living moving breathing people of course). Till it can pay the bills I’m happy chasing my other passions. Money. And free market enterprise. As a legal social entrepreneur? Enough non profit work.
Okay. I feel better already. And my time is up. I hope I haven’t bored you. Till tomorrow! A bien tout!