Starving Artist Stops Abusing Food

I often see those success stories of people with humble and/or difficult beginnings finally breaking into the entertainment industry as a writer or actor. He was living out of his car before he made it. Wow, my car looks like someone lives in it, but that's it. Her parents abandoned her and she bounced from foster home to foster home before achieving success. Wow, I have great and supportive parents. Bummer. He worked at a grocery store during the day and pulled overnight shifts as a janitor for years before he was discovered. Wow! I deal with shit at work, but not literal shit! I’ve looked at my own life. My parents didn’t abandon me, I hadn’t gone through financial hardships that cost me a home… I don’t have this incredible story of rags to riches. I’m just over here… living. So, am I going to be able to make it as a writer without the story? It’s as if I need the tough beginnings in order to make it, and I didn’t have those. However, I may finally have someone to thank. My job. My job may have given me just what I needed.

My job must have looked at me (yes, my job, collectively, all the executives and higher-ups all collected into one entity) and thought, this guy over here is trying to be an artist, but look at all the food he can afford! He’s by no means rich, but he’s making enough to afford an adequate amount of food. That doesn’t sound like the typical starving artist to us. If this guy wants to make it as an artist, he needs to be a starving one. So let’s help him out!

And with that, came the pay cut! Thank you, Job! Thank you for forcing me into this reality of no longer being able to afford the same foods I’ve been able to afford. It’s less food and cheaper food from here on out, the starving route, and my art should increase in quality.

You see, things were already mildly difficult financially before the pandemic. I started doing freelance writing to supplement my income. The pandemic hit and finances became even more strained. That extra income became crucial and I had to increase the amount of hours I was putting into the side gig. It was 40 hours a week at my main job and between 15-20 hours a week with the freelance jobs. Time was not a luxury of mine, and it hasn’t been for years. I’ve also got pets to look after, but I’ve needed to find time to write. To write my own stuff. My scripts, my stories, I needed time for those. Well, I carved out some time and because all the work still needed to be done to earn enough money to get by, that meant other areas would be compromised. Hey, maybe you “go out” less, that’ll save you money, anyway. That will be more beneficial. Little less time relaxing and watching TV, little more time working or writing, I do enjoy my own writing, anyway. Little less time sleeping, little more time being awake. Being awake is more fun anyway, I hardly remember anything I do while sleeping, and I can only work on things while awake… I’m pretty sure!

So, I made it work. The Job changed my schedule for me, maybe they thought it was more efficient. Instead of working five 8-hour days I was told I now would work four 10-hour days. It was a change, but I adjusted, and there was a perk. That means I work overtime every day! And that means I get overtime pay for many of those hours! Alright, a little more money. Life went on. The workload at work increased. More work getting piled on our already small team. Some employees left and weren’t replaced. Layoffs happened and our team lost employees! But the work remained the same. In fact, it later increased again. Somewhere along the way, our bonuses were cut down because of a merger from one company to the other and the new company was more interested in making me into a starving artist. Later, the bonus was removed altogether! And then the latest update, I was changed from hourly to salary, meaning my bonus was back! The smaller one I wound up with-- not the original, much larger one. And… salary people don’t get overtime. So, no more overtime pay… which far outweighed the bonus I’ll receive once a year.

All in all, a sweet little 10% pay cut. 10% less money every week. Still have to work the overtime though, just won’t get paid for it. Well, not entirely true, I could opt into a 5-day schedule again. But after having worked 4 days a week for years, and having gotten used to that, that will just feel like adding a day on to my schedule. And after having gotten used to my pay, 10% is a nifty little jab to the gut. Either way, I earn less money per week than I used to and my options are either A) keep working overtime but don’t get paid for it or B) add a day of work onto my schedule.

Fucking brilliant, right?

It’s significantly less money to get used to, and I wasn’t Scrooge McDucking, swimming in coins. No, no, I would scoop up coins when I located them, need that for laundry. So, what are the options? Work even more hours doing freelance to earn that money back? 60 hours a week for both work and side gigs was already a lot, adding any more time would cut away at what time I have to write my own stuff. I couldn’t do that, I’d have no time to work on the projects I truly care about! Sleeping less to create more time to work on more freelance jobs probably wasn’t a good option either. I’d already cut down on sleep a little, anymore might make me a less than pleasant person, plus my work and my writing would suffer, and then I suppose there’s that health angle of it all. I’d probably prefer not to take years off my life, then again, they are the last years. I never hear anyone raving about their 80’s and 90’s and all the sweet fucking sudoku they’ve been doing and the relaxing with a nice prune daiquiri. I’m not saying they don’t rave about it. I’m saying I don’t hear about it. Not that I know many people of that age group. Still, I should probably try to keep those latter years intact, I do like shuffleboard and condos in Florida. What other option would there be?

Eat less. Or eat cheaper. But most probably, eat less and eat cheaper. If I stopped spending money on stupid, frivolous things like FOOD I probably wouldn’t be in my financial distress in the first place. It’s not just that I waste money on food, I waste money on food so that I can partake in the consumption of it every day. And get this, and I’m almost ashamed to admit it, it isn’t just every day. It’s multiple times, every day. That’s the difference between a user and an abuser. You could find me habitually “using the food” as they say. Or “crackin’ that F Rock” as some younger and hipper than me would declare. I’ve had a problem. And it was twofold. The abuse of food, three meals a day, the food paraphernalia that went along with it, plates, forks, spoons, oh brother, I had it all, even two types of knives. But also, how was I going to be a true artist while letting something like food get in the way?

I know some people will say food is their muse. Take a few hits of the pasta late at night and let Sweet Mary Carb do her work while you put pen to paper and allow your cerebrum to journey to places unseen by the sober. But really, I was just wasting my money. I need to put a roof over my head, after all. So, I’ve already started planning. I’m increasing my bean intake, changing it from existing at around 10% of my weekly diet to around 40%. Rice will become a staple. I like greens and they do have some health benefits, but I should probably stop speaking in the plural when it comes to food. I can buy… green. One green. And yeah, that can be the bulk of my diet. Remove most of that other stuff. Oh, and when I am purchasing the food, it has to come from one of those grocery stores. The food from restaurants, oh no no no, that’s few and far between when I would even step foot in those establishments. And this three meals a day stuff, I don’t know, sounds like a lot of hoopla. I think that could be minimized too. Still, in the end, cutting out portions of food still might not be enough to do it. I may still need to add some more weekly hours of freelance work. The three contracts I constantly work on may not be enough, I may have to search for a fourth.

Now, with big adjustments like this that I’ve had to make on the fly because my job was super nice in cutting me off cold turkey and not allowing any grace period, enacting this benefit with less than a week’s notice, of course there will be changes. Changes aren’t necessarily bad. Every time I hear my stomach grumble, that’s the sound of a new story percolating. That’s the sound of a starving artist. That’s my body saying, less food directly results in more stories. More art. The connection is quite clear. I have my story of rags to riches. Man cannot afford food thanks to his job. His job, the only one looking out for him, allowing him to reach his true potential. Enacting a plan that would cause him to dig deep down and grab hold of that fire inside.

Thank you, Job. This may be the push I need. I’m always striving to create my best work, I’m always striving for something more. Now I have got even more motivation. I had little time for much already, now I have even less. But I'll scrape together every damn second I can find throughout the day and cobble them into a collection of time and creation. Maybe one day you’ll get the proper thanks you deserve from me. I guess we’ll see where it all heads. In the meantime, you’ve helped spark plenty of stories that are already in the works.

Now, let's see if we can't get those fuckers published somewhere.