I’ve been working for this magazine for six months, and they’re only finally now entertaining the idea of actually paying me. That part I don’t really mind. What bugs me is that right now, even knowing that I have a baby and a life and am not receiving reimbursement, they seem to feel they’re entitled to an awful lot.
Generally, I like working for free because people are so happy with whatever you do, so if you go above and beyond, they act like you’re a god. With past positions, I’ve always felt like the folks paying my paycheck thought they owned me, as if with their twelve dollars an hour they have delivered me from a life of poverty and as such I owe them. The situation I’m presently in is unique in that they seem to feel I owe them for just their kind intentions of thinking to pay me at some point down the line.
I finished my marathon of writing, researching, and editing last night in time to watch the Olympic Closing Ceremony. Nico was already sleep, having giving up on me before his bedtime. Christian was on a plane to Europe; in my exhausted state I hadn’t given him a proper farewell. I was tired, bitter, lonely, and irritated that I’d just spent the better part of the past three days working on a school comparison article that will be released a month after school has already begun. This isn’t exactly what I had in mind when I had agreed to do the “stay at home mom” thing.