Most days, I love being a free-lancer -- being able to work in jammies, cuddling with the cats, religiously watching ABC Daytime (don't have the slipper action going like
those Moxie broads, but that's because, despite the insane shoe fetish, I'm barefoot as much as possible). But you know when I DON'T love being a free-lancer? When the freakin' Post Office is late with my damn money.
This is the second time in a month that the damn check hasn't been here on Thursday, the day that it's come in ever since I started free-lancing, and I'm fucked. I mean, the last time this happened -- and at the beginning of the month, no less -- I ended up more than -$400 in the hole, a hole of which I'm STILL trying to get myself completely out. And it really isn't going to be that much better this time, since I've got rent, cell phone, regular phone AND NIPSCO (utilities) due within the next two days. Greta across the hall spotted me the cash for rent, but crap! I have as many payments as possible taken out of my checking account (so I don't forget to pay them completely, like I'm wont to do), so I'm going to get hosed. What the hell, man!?!?
Oh, whatEVER. 
