When I became disabled in 2002, I never dreamed (and who did?) that the middle class of this country would be facing the financial hardships we have today. I had (against my doctors recommendations) been earning nearly $40,000 annually, had a healthy 401K and was living very comfortably. My doctor didn't seem to understand that I still believed I was invincible although I was in my 50's, so I ignored his advice and continued work that all but destroyed my spine. No self-pity; I did this to myself. The previous is just to explain why I can't hold a "regular" full-time job.
I began an online business some time back, when the local library (my only means of web access) was open from 10 a.m. to 6 p.m. Monday through Thursday and from 10 a.m. to noon each Friday. With government cut-backs and small town financial mismanagement (er, I meant to say small town government stealing - no, no, no, I .... oh never mind!), the library no longer opens on Friday. But during the glory days when it was open Monday through Thursday and half of Friday, people with library cards were allowed to use the eight antiquated computers which offered Internet access. There was, however, a catch: each person was allowed one hour Internet access and if others were waiting, first online would be bumped and had to go to the back of the line of waiting "patrons" if he/she wished to continue to access the Internet. As more people became unemployed, the line of people waiting became steadily longer until most days I left the library rather than go to the back of the line to wait out the rest of the day.
Then I began to sell (people who still had jobs still wanted stuff!) items and was able to purchase a laptop and Internet service in my home. Oh, happy day! Now I could work at my own pace without rushing and in a chair that didn't make me want to scream in pain within 15 minutes of beginning my work day. Nirvana! Comfort, rest when needed, convenience, clean bathrooms - what more could I ask?
So began the creeping, insidious process of becoming "self-employed." When I began selling online, I was totally oblivious to the time, energy and sheer determination required to sell enough to supplement my Social Security Disability (the 401K was partially eaten by the one year wait while unemployed before I could even file for Social Security, and most of my fellow countrymen know what happened to the rest).
But enough of my medical and financial woes, at least as they pertain to what brought me to online selling! Months ago I decided it was time to begin the dreaded process of cleaning out and straightening my storage shed. The shed is fairly small and it would seem from the outside that the process would be simple, easy and fairly quick. But I had forgotten that the men in my life had put most of what was in the shed without my supervision. I had baby clothes and toys from when my only child was a toddler 32 years ago. I had boxes and boxes of collectibles my grandmother had left me when she died in 1985. I had furniture which wouldn't fit into my home when I "downsized" piled on top of the boxes and toys. When I opened the double doors to the shed, it threw up - all over the yard! I had no choice in how to begin; I started in the yard. For days (always praying that the Great Spirit would not let it rain until I at least had everything off the grass and onto the back porch) I dragged boxes to the porch and began unpacking and sorting into what I assumed would be three categories: display in my home, Goodwill, and online selling.
I am allowed to live with 5 indoor cats. It didn't take long before I realized that "display" meant "oh look: something new to knock off! I wonder if it will shatter?" to those beasts whom I had formerly regarded as loving, benevolent companions. The little darlings explored anything new to shards! I furiously thought out my options: 1. kill the darlings, 2. give it all to Goodwill and be done with it, or 3. sell what was of value and give the rest to Goodwill. After giving much contemplation to #1, and many tender moments with anywhere from one to four of the beasts in my lap gazing lovingly into my eyes, I admitted defeat and chose door #3.
I have spent five months separating, cataloging, and carting boxes to Goodwill and that damn shed is still full! My best guess is that the possums and raccoons are repacking everything at night while I sleep the exhausted sleep of the overworked 65 year old woman who has spent all day on the computer trying to learn a new trade.
Who knew how much stuff Mama had left me? Who knew it was out there? Who knew how to find it under all that junk? But most importantly, who knew that work would go from an hour a day, Monday through Friday to ten hours a day, 7 days a week? I always knew I was a Type A (a term I'm sure is antiquated, but I don't have time to research it online), but this had become ridiculous!
So I've decided to give myself the weekends off. My son (who is also disabled and lives with me, God help him!) has been out of town, but when he returns the plan is that he will hide the laptop and the key to the shed in his room (a room I'm afraid to enter, because he is, after all, a man and God only knows what shape that room is in!) each weekend. It's the only plan we could formulate to keep me sane (though I fear it is too late, my pretty!) and allow me time to relax (who could relax, knowing there might be something in that shed worth millions?) and rest (rest? who could rest, knowing that shed still holds undiscovered treasures?). We're going to give it a try. My son is fairly large, at 6'3" and 210 lbs., but I worry that he won't be able to fight me off when the obsession is on me!
For the love of heaven, people, buy from my stores and save me from myself!
DISCLAIMER: Written by, edited by an unsound mind. If the reader has a distaste for sarcasm and self-depreciating humor, well, move along. The author firmly believes in laughing at oneself whenever possible.
http://4myself.ecrater.com/filter.php?sort=date&keywords=&perpage=80
http://www.bonanza.com/booths/Allison_fbwhyfl
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