vaneramos | Money

I arrived home this afternoon to find a cheque in the mail. My application has been accepted as an independent service provider to care for "Luke", and I have received payment for the first three afternoons I worked with him. It isn't large, but equivalent to what I've had to live on for one week after the bills are paid.

It's almost a quarter of what I made on sales of the chapbook, which required hundreds of hours writing and printing. The artist's life is a labour of love; I do love it, and don't intend to stop pursuing that path, but by comparison this is easy money.

Still challenging of course. Figuring out how to involve and socialize an autistic 13-year-old is stretching me. It's not a profession I ever dreamt of, or even wanted. But I feel good about it. Ironically I am being paid by the Community Mental Health Clinic, the one agency that helped turn my own progress forward two years ago, after nearly a decade of falling through the cracks and finding no adequate support for my recovery.

This is practically the first time I've received an hourly wage since 1995. The gratification is intense. Probably I could get addicted to earning money.

Ten years ago I was crushed and burned out, lost in my failure to perform according to people's demands. I will never again take a job that stresses me to that point. But after years of scraping and fearing life might not be sustainable, I approach work from a different perspective.

This is for me.