I suppose you could call August one of the most trying months I've ever experienced. Although not without its own reward, it's definitely been an especially difficult slog.
Let's start with the good. I achieved a lifelong goal this month - I became an actual, professional writer. Saying this still feels especially strange in my mouth, especially since I basically got the job by accident. To be honest, becoming a professional writer wasn't even a lifelong goal at this point in my life, it was a pipe-dream that I'd given up in order to seek a future with some sort of Real Job, whatever that is. Either way, a friend of mine owns his own web development company, and one of his clients asked him if he knew anyone who could write. So he recommended me. Me.
And thus I was hired. I now write professionally about tea. As in, the tea you drink as you sit primly, debating upon another biscuit. High tea. Green tea. The tea that comes in bags. Definitely not the sort of tea you have as your nightly meal, which is another term for "dinner" for us weird Australians. You'd think that a sort of business that revolves around tea would be a bust, but it seems to be going pretty awesomely, from what I can see. And so I finally ended up with a stable job.
A stable job.
That I actually like.
WTF, you mean I can work for money and actually like doing so? Seriously, WTF? You must be joking.
Apparently not.
And so here I am, more than a month into my new job and sitting here with that sort of stunned look, not sure how I quite managed it. To think that I could achieve a pipe dream merely by chance, by accident, by word-of-mouth? Unthinkable for most; you have to get pretty lucky for that sort of thing, and my luck is generally so horrible that the number of frightful coincidences I collect would thoroughly stun most reasonable statisticians. Which isn't to say that I have the worst luck in the world; I'm sure I even know people with worse luck, but I guess I'm king of like the threshold for "crazy unlucky given socio-economic status".
Anyway.
I already had two jobs before this job, and couldn't quit one of them (happened to be a supermarket) for another two weeks. So for two weeks, I balanced three jobs and university. Head's up: don't try that. It doesn't lead to sanity. In fact, it leads to droves of sanity-destroying, willpower-testing eczema. EVERYWHERE. I had eczema coming out of my scalp and fingers and toes. My legs. Back and face as well. In fact I still have eczema, and the spots are starting to spread and appear into more fully-fledged beasts.
I reiterate: don't do three jobs and uni. Don't only work and sleep. Don't work seven days a week. Because this is what can happen to you if you try.
Finally managed to quit supermarket job. Things go smoothly. Football was in demand, however, and I wanted to impress new job. So I wound up continuing to work and study seven days a week anyway (don't do that). Money was good though. OH, was the money ever good.
Started going insane. Just a tinge. Mother was driving me up the wall, asking me to do things I didn't have time for. And then mother went to hospital and I didn't have a choice but to do all the things I didn't have time for, plus all of the administration stuff which comes with extended stays. That's the sort of thing my Nan used to take care of, but it's kind of hard for her to take care of it when she's not living anymore. So I tried my best with what I knew. I think I did a pretty good job. I even ate properly, despite managing to stress all the meat off my bones (suddenly my jeans need a belt or they won't stay up anymore ;_; ).
And so I did that all month. Studied. Slept. Ate. Worked. Slept again. Maybe managed to put some Star Trek: Voyager on in the background as I wrote about tea. That wasn't so bad.
About halfway through the month I went to SMASH! con in Sydney. The train and entry tickets were paid for long before mum went into hospital, so I decided not to try my luck with a refund and go anyway, as a break. Had a great time. Cosplaying is awesome, you know? Used an old costume, but who cares. It's a damn comfortable one. Man I love trench coats. I'm proud of making that.
Came home from Sydney on the overnight train to Melbourne. Turns out that I was right; I can't sleep on moving vehicles. That wasn't very fun.
Survived for a bit longer. Near the end of last week a friend of mine agreed to stay with me so that he could get to uni faster and help me out with the housework/have a bit of fun. Much enjoyment was had. Workload was finally lifting. We had a good time. He was supposed to still be here, but mum came out of hospital unexpectedly today and walked in on him sleeping on the lounge room floor. She was nice to him, I think. But it didn't go down well after he'd left. She didn't like the idea that I'd let someone in the house to help me out and live with me for a bit. She especially didn't like the fact that while we'd been doing some major major cleaning, we'd decided to rearrange the lounge room furniture into more effective positions.
I got yelled at a lot. Oh well. Nothing new there. I am the yelling post, aren't I? Almost forgot what it was like to be yelled at constantly while she was gone, silly Alex!
But now I'm sitting here. I'm halfway through an assignment that's due at 5pm tomorrow night and I'm sure I'll be able to get through it by then. It's not that bad at all. I'm probably going to go to bed in a moment because I'm exhausted and if I don't sleep enough I'll probably just end up with more eczema anyway. Sounds awesome!
I'm sure there's a shorter explanation to all of this. But there's also a longer version. tl;dr: I did lots of things and am probably betterworse for it. Betterworse is definitely a word, shut up. Better because I can do lots of work now and it probably won't be as torturous as it's felt. And I'm a professional writer oh my God. Worse because, well.
Turns out stress kills you a bit on the inside and on the outside. Stress probably kills you faster than anything. People say stress is beneficial - take it from me, it's not. The stress and worry and panic attacks aren't really worth the benefits. The best thing you can do is pace yourself.
Don't ever try to do what I for some reason are compelled to do. Only do it if your hands are totally tied.
Because it will get you in the end, and you'll end up rambling like me.
And a HUUUUGE congrats on the writing job. That is seriously wonderful. I am so happy of you, and a little bit jealous. Don't suppose there's anywhere I can see this writing, eh? 
