By the end of the work day yesterday, I was an emotionally exhausted mess. I went and got our groceries, came home, started the oven to preheat, changed into more comfortable clothes, and opened a Redd’s. I went out onto the back porch and sat on the stairs, noting that I actually did not need to water the gardens because we had gotten a decent storm while I was at work. That meant more time to write, so this wasn’t a bad thing.

I was so sick of the emotional drain. There wasn’t a rhyme or reason to it, there wasn’t anything I could do to keep it from happening. It came and fucked my head up and went away, leaving me feeling vulnerable and useless.

I made a move to right my head. I made a move to not bottle emotions that I was feeling and just let what was in my head and heart be known. I don’t know if it was the right move or wrong, but it felt right. I felt a weight come off my shoulders, but it didn’t fix the drained feeling I had. That would only come with sleep and opening my eyes to a new day, and I knew that.

I decided while dinner was in the oven I should probably distract myself with editing the piece I had written that morning, and grabbed my beer and went inside to do just that. I remembered I needed to respond to an email I had received during the day about my t-shirt subscription, and logged into my email account. I can’t stand emails sitting there unresolved, so after I sent the email to the t-shirt company, I looked through my folders to see what I could clear out.

In the ‘updates’ folder were three new emails from a online writing company that I had applied for on Sunday. . . I thought I had been rejected, honestly. I of course didn’t write about the rejection, and honestly didn’t tell anyone but Sophia. I had been floored by the rejection because I had ‘failed’ their grammar test. I know I’m not a grammar goddess or anything, but I think I do pretty good with a high school education. I had submitted my writing piece, took the grammar test, and missing 6 questions received an 80%. At the bottom of the test it said ‘fail’. I looked at their FAQ and it said if you fail the grammar test, you can reapply in 6 months. I dismissed it and moved onto other avenues.

I opened the first email.

"Writing Sample Accepted! 
Welcome Amber,
Thanks for submitting your writing sample. We're pleased to inform you that your wait is over and your writing sample has been accepted!
We are excited to have you writing for us. Before you get started, there are a few things we would like you to do."

I about fell over.

This was a paid website, and I knew that. I stared at the screen, mouth wide open. ‘What the fuck, I thought I failed. . . ?”

Just then, my phone rang. I looked over at it, and saw it was Sophia.

“Dude! Dude! Holy shit! Oh my God! RembemberthatcompanythatrejectedmeIgotaccepted!”

“What? Slow down. Say it again.”

As slowly as I could manage I said the sentence again. “Remember that company that I failed their grammar test? I just got an acceptance email.”

“WHAT?! No shit? Oh my God!”

“hold on hold on, I just opened the first email, there’s two more. Maybe it’s a mistake.”

So I opened the other two emails. . . and they were literally the terms and conditions and rules for writing for them with the payment break down, and my login information.

No shit, there I was. All fucking wrecked over a bad day and fucked emotional bullshit. And out of the blue my dream starts to come true.

I literally sat there on the phone with Sophia and screamed like a little girl going to Disney World. She screamed with me, “I think I’m as excited as you are, and this isn’t even for me!” she said.

“But. . . the FAQs said that if I fail the grammar test. . .”

“Your shit’s just that good, Amber.”

“Man, I fucking guess!”

I wanted to cry, but for good reasons this time.

Alright, so details.

Details are that I literally write fact based 400 word articles for the internet. Last night I wrote about inflatable party rentals. There was an option to write about lakefront property, which I’ll probably do this morning. Each 400 word article gets graded, and you get paid based on the quality of the work.

I sat down and did the math. I’m looking at potentially being able to gross half of my normal monthly income just from this little side writing gig.

Shut the fuck up.

Good things come to those who wait. . . nope. Those who fucking work for it, and don’t fucking quit.

Published by: A. Elizardo

Single mother to two amazing boys, sister to an inspiration, and the daughter of two opinionated, sarcastic, fun loving individuals that are no longer physically with us. Music, writing, reading, my family - living and gone - are what keep me going as I put on my rose colored glasses and navigate us through this crazy world.

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