Narcissist’s Log #7

iron

 

I live in Los Angeles and lie for a living.  As far as lives go, that’s a pretty cushy one.  At least on paper.

The truth of the matter is that I don’t have a steady gig lined up until the middle of next year, so I have to hustle tons of smaller, one-off jobs in the interim in order to put food on the table (and by “table” I of course mean “steamer trunk full of old action figures and covered in The Smiths stickers”).

I’m lucky.  Right now I’m coasting by on the scratch I made sellin’ old stock at The Latino Comics expo, but as of this very moment I have $16 to my name…and I have to make that  last for four days, until The Boise Library System flies me out to Idaho for a mini convention, feeds me, puts me up in a fancy schmancy hotel, and pays me $50 a day to  hang out with fans and answer questions about who would win in a fight between Thunder Christ and that walking L’Oreal commercial over at Marvel.

The per diem from that gig & the little bit of bread I scrounge up hawkin’ my wares should tide me over until mid-month, at which point BOOM! Studios will fly me out to Baltimore for their convention, I’ll smile, shake hands and kiss babies–and secretly freak out about having to line up another job IMMEDIATELY lest I have to start feeding the cat bits of paper soaked in my own (super nutritional) blood in order to keep it from withering away into furry nothingness.

This is my life, and I wouldn’t have it any other way…but sometimes, DAMN.

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