THAT WAS ALL TRUE. ALL THAT FOLLOWS IS FALSE.Jenner wrote:Being the foremost expert on Meg, as I am currently writing her tell-all biography for when she becomes famous. I shall regale you with the Legend of Meagan.Benevolent_Ghaleon wrote:PLEASE elaborate.
it was actually more than a year, for one. and this is going to be hella long--fair warning.
i lost my day job in 2007. it wasn't entirely unexpected, as i worked as a temp webdesigner for the local school system, and the fued between the superintendent and the mayor had been public for awhile. i had tried to find other work, but only managed to land one interview, which went badly the moment the interviewing panel saw my baby face and asked if i knew what a grown up position i was applying for.
in any case, when the mayor cut the school system's funding, and they started firing all non-essential employees, i was still shocked. i was also more or less out of time--i had only a couple of days until the time frame in which i could cancel my lease ended, and i'd be stuck with another year of rent, and no job. my options were this: keep the apartment and scramble to find enough work to pay rent with (an option made harder by the fact i had no car, and would either need one full-time job that paid 10/hr, or two jobs that paid less), or, say screw the apartment (and also my much-coveted freedom/independence), couch-hop, and accept a comics-job from a company i had never heard of.
the second choice fell into my lap when this company stumbled across a webcomic i had started in my free time. i was an animation major. when 2D animation when kaputz in the US, i turned to comics (which is a superior medium for creators anyway--much more control), and poured my passion into that. after talking it over with my fiance and family, i decided to take option #2.
this was not the easier option. it was just the option with more of a future.
anyway, after awhile of being separated from my city, my fiance, and all manner of independence (and feeling like a worthless moocher, and one especially ugly fight with the future in-laws), i managed to find a reasonably priced efficiency apartment for the fiance and i on the southside of richmond.
turned out to be the ghetto. the first three months there, i was pretty scared to go anywhere or do anything. we were ground floor, and when mom saw the place, she gasped and said "meg, my cousin was raped in a ground floor apartment." thanks mom. there were gunshots at night, someone's car was set on fire in the parking lot, the apartment above ours had its windows busted out one night--it just wasn't good. the comics thing wasn't going so well either. the script was a month late, none of my art pleased them, etc etc. and, on top of that, my fiance--now husband--was killing himself doing construction. he would work all day, come home, and sleep until he had to go again the next day. and he was wholly and beyond supportive of this comics thing, but that did nothing to quell the overwhelming guilt i felt at him having to work so hard to support us. not to mention the loneliness.
anyway. i think i had something resembling a breakdown one day--a combination of fear, stress, and guilt. the next day, i made myself go outside and get acquainted with my neighborhood. and the day after that. and the day after that. i found the local vet for our cat. i found a used books/comics shop down the street. i found the bank.
then one night, the upstairs neighbor was being louder than usual. thump thump. thump. crash. my husband looks up and asks "what is that?"
"Oh, you know. child abuse. animal abuse. spousal abuse." i joked.
and then we heard a scream. so, now you know why i'm going to hell.
anyway, i panicked, threw my (6foot tall built like a tank) husband my phone, and pulled on my sneakers to go upstairs myself (i'm 4'11 and squishy) to find out what apartment number it was (we were 6, they were above ours so obviously they were 106, but remember, i'm panicking and my brain isn't working).
the door is cracked open. and out stumbles a woman only dressed in a robe. she has bruises on her neck, and she's gasping. her toddler peeks out after. her attacker--her ex, and the father of her child--has already left.
i end up staying the night with her so she'll feel safe. the cops come, take a report, and leave. the ex comes back--my husband and i send him off again, and change the locks on her door.
the rest of our year there is like this. i babysit her son for free, as she has very little money. the landlords send her a letter telling her if she ever screams again, they will throw her and her son out on the street. bright side: now that her ex has a known and documented history of abuse, she can petition the court for sole custody of their son (and never have to see him again).
my grandfather, who was essentially my father figure, and my favorite person, kills himself. my mother finds the body. she'll be wreck for more than a year.
this makes the comics company flip their -Dragon Diamond-, convinced i cannot finish the book. so, instead of mourning, i work. they respond by taking me off of the project and handing it to someone else for the last bit--screwing me out of a 4th of the promised pay. which is a lot, when you make as little as i do. the person who finishes the book does an atrocious job. the combination of all said BS sends me into a serious depression. it'll be half a year before i can draw again, but, my simple availability for work gets around, and more comics work falls into my lap.
my husband attempts grad school, but is disgusted by the politics and quits. all other attempts at decent work and pay fall through.
when the year comes to an end, and we're giving the option of renewing, we look at our other options, decide we'd be healthier and happier if we stop paying for health insurance and use that money to GTFO.
i bought my neighbor a copy of barack obama's autobio, wrote a cheesy-tho-heartfelt message in the front, and fled.
since then, things have been better, but wobbly. rent elsewhere here has shot up obscenely--we simply can't afford to rent outside the ghetto anymore. so. one day i had a stupidly obvious idea: foreclosed homes. they are ridiculously cheap. rough shape, but at 30k, very worth it. and as it happens, in my city there are tons of them. it didn't occur to me to ask why so many remained, when people obviously still needed houses. 4 months and three denied bids later, we learned that banks only want cash for those houses, not loans. during this time, the sublease we had ended, and we moved again.
a friend of mine, living in the house of her sister (also a friend of mine), committed suicide. we're living in her room, rent-free, until we get the house mess sorted. because our friends are saints (and desperately need to think of this room as being something beside their sister's death bed). and life wasn't warped enough yet.
anyway, my husband's parents intervened when they learned we needed cash for a bid. they should close on a house this month. then we're going to renovate, buy the house from them, rent out a room for extra money, and wait for life to stop sucking.
i'm fairly positive the suck will cease immediately. tho, at this point, my husband is expecting to find a secret black mold room or something in the new house.
TL;DR VERSION:
THINGS SUCKED, AND THEN WE COMBINED OUR SUCK WITH OTHER PEOPLES' SUCK TO CANCEL THE SUCK OUT.
