Complaint: Definitely a Complaint

I was just wondering if anyone else out there wants to join my new club: It's called

Everything I Love to Do and am Good at Pays for Shit.

Why is that, exactly?

Being creative, or heaven forbid, an artist of any kind, seems to instantly mean meager job prospects, and the constant unsolicited career advice of well-meaning relatives. My brain hurts from relentless career nudges and readjustments.

And they aren't only coming from other people. They come from within, my friends. They come from within.

I find myself bemoaning the fact that my expensive education equips me to work at McDonalds or possibly to be allowed to clean up in schools or daycare centers AFTER the kids have gone home. It seems that education does not buy you any kind of guarantee.

This is why I have been struggling through these math classes and ETS bullshit tests, in order to qualify to step foot into a school as a full fledged teacher in this particular draconian state. But there aren't jobs, and even if there were, there wouldn't be many in the arts. There isn't even a designation for my field (Drama) in this state. That's how much it thinks of the arts.

I'm rambling. And it's all too familiar to alert or even only slightly alert readers. Kvetch, kvetch.

But I'm not going to be a doctor or a lawyer. Never gonna happen. I am who I am.

Guess I just have to accept that what I love to do is not highly remunerative, but the payoff can be pretty damn good.

It just annoys me that teachers and artists and social workers and non-profits and their ilk make crap money, but bring immeasurable joy and educational value to life.

Why don't we value the valuable?