Because Numbers Don't Lie
When The Dog Days Return
Not a single wisp of memory remains, of the days with nothing but time indulged for idyllic pursuits. Gone are the late afternoon strolls around the walled city, the herb garden expansion at the veranda outside the Master's bedroom, and the hours watching Chowder on Cartoon Network before going to sleep. There is no more time to meddle in the affairs of the house, to sift through stuff to give away to the needy, to conjure fears of the Apocalypse, and splurge - to prepare - for the worst of the elements. Save for Saturdays, which I devote to my Gundam Pilot, the days stretch into weeks, uninterrupted, that sometimes, the waking hours are not enough to do everything that needs to be accomplished.
I've been losing time ever since.
The blog is replete with rants about my raket. Of how the number of blurbs required to submit in a week had increased by 100, even when I barely hit the present weekly quota. My mind is already set to leave this kind of work; that I am just waiting for the powers that be to ax my head so I can say bye-bye to the company. But then, I have no place to go. No blueprint to support myself should half of my earnings disappear with the lost of the sideline. And given the financial woes of the workplace, and the pressures of shelling more cash for the needs of home, my salary cannot cope with the uncontrolled spending.
I will be bankrupt before Christmas.
So I started embracing my disposition, clocking ten to twelve hours in the office to work, to skip my workout routine to find more hours writing blurbs, to neglect this blog because I could use the extra two hours to hit closer to the new quota. And given how this mechanical writing activity already wiped my penchant for narratives, I cannot say for certain if I could keep the present number of entries posted next month. It is a sacrifice, and I am beginning to see the things I might eventually lose.
In exchange, I will always have money to draw from my wallet. Never would I feel the pinch of "Sweldo de Peligro," or the "Slow Death" elsewhere, because I have three sources of income. In a month, I was able to buy my mom a new dress, and a pair of new shoes. Should the matriarch needs maintenance medicines, all she has to do is ask, and I'd buy her pills even before she turns over her ATM card. I was able to accomplish these without hemorrhaging my savings account.
In fact, it won't make any dent on my finances.
I see my predicament and remember that this money-making venture is time-bound; that I have been given a month to shape up or I might be replaced by someone more capable to hit the ever-increasing company targets.
"Enjoy while it last," I told myself, while devoting more hours to writing, and talking more to my team leader who has provided every possible support to help me improve my standing. There is a resolve that whatever fate lies when the end of July nears, I wouldn't feel bad of my termination. I would even thank the raketship for the opportunity to be part of their family. And as I wrap the events of the past month, encapsulated in a blog entry that is posted two days past the eight month of the year, there was certainty that I won't have to speak about this raket anymore.
Because no matter what, the endeavor has met its purpose:
"That said, I'm promoting you to regular rate -- $0.18 per blurb -- effective immediately.
Congratulations!! Your hard work and dedication has finally paid off.
I hope this new rate will inspire you to continue to strive for excellence because doing so will not only help the team achieve its goals, but also help our professionals gain more exposure in search engines like Google and the [name of raket here] website gets more Google love.
The more quality blurbs we write for them, the more likely they'll get hired.
The dog days will never return.
Cheers to my new life.
Cheers to my new life.
*SOMA, State of My Affairs