The Conflict
It was bound to happen. I expected a conflict between the other half of this household and myself because I had begun sensing that he regards what I do (drawing, painting, and photographing images to apply to gift items that need marketing) as more of a pastime or hobby rather than a full time job. Also, he has seen no income produced from my efforts.
I can certainly understand why he'd think that since I sit here 12 hours and more a day happily creating and promoting. After all, working a full time job isn't suppose to be fun, right? So, if I'm having fun there's no way I'll contribute income. Further heightening my sense of his disapproval was his suggestion a few days ago that I update my resume to post online in preparation for the anticipated move to Spokane, WA next Spring.
"We need to get money rolling in so you should at least work a part-time job," he informed me.
Huh? Does this mean you don't think Visages will bring income? I think to myself. It's beginning to but it'll slow if I can't put the time and effort into it.
But that's an entirely different story. Back to what I was saying.
What he doesn't know and has never witnessed is a room full of artists and art directors happily sitting at their computers laying out magazine pages while they laugh and joke amongst themselves or shoot rubber bands at each other for eight hours. Working for a company should be fun and not a chore we abhor.
So the conflict ensued last night when he informed me dinner was ready just as I was trying to finish up my latest blog entry for Life as a Zazzle Associate.
"I'll be there in a minute," I said. "I'm in the middle of finishing this blog entry." My voice probably sounded a little frantic since I know he doesn't like it when I put off supper after he's put in the effort to cook.
"Fine. Eat cold spaghetti," he said with a note of irritation in his voice.
I shook my head after acknowledging him and continued typing.
As he walked past me, I heard him mutter under his breath some things I won't pass on to you. Suffice it to say his mutterings were enough to upset me. After finishing the final touches and making final corrections, I got up, grabbed my plate and headed to the living room where he sat forking food into his mouth while watching football.
"Hon, nobody else is going to market Visages or write my blogs for me. There is only me to do it," I said to him with plenty of conviction in my voice. He made no reply but continued forking food and gazing at the college football game which by the way I'm sick to death of constantly being on the television.
After sitting down to face my meal, I discovered I had no stomach for it so picked up my plate, walked into the kitchen and covered it with plastic wrap, shoved it into the refrigerator then marched into the bedroom to lie on the bed and read Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince. I couldn't absorb much and found myself re-reading sentences because I kept going over the episode in my mind. At 9 pm, I gave up, closed the book, covered myself with a throw blanket and slept fully clothed on top of the quilt that covers our bed.
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