Selling the Week for the Weekend

by Joanne on July 6, 2008

As I lay in bed last night unable to fall asleep, I thought about the things I would have to do today. I have the distasteful task of writing a letter to my book vendors informing them that my corporation is insolvent and is now closed, and that they would receive no more money. I also had to begin the tedious work of documenting my entire inventory: a 1,100 square foot shop, about 1,200 square feet in my home, and two 15 X 30 two storage units full of boxes. I would have to open each box, count the books, seal them up again, and record them. I was dreading Monday.

I closed my business last Tuesday, packed books Tuesday and Wednesday, and then thought I’d take the rest of the week off. Just relax. Just enjoy not having to pack books. But the relief of closing this business that I’d grown to hate was replaced by knowledge that it wasn’t over yet. Now I have to figure out how to sell the books for enough money to pay off the IRS, support myself over the next couple of months and then get myself and my few belongings to the east coast.

This morning when I woke up I thought about how I had bought cat food yesterday, which I could only have done if yesterday was Saturday, because the pet food store is closed Sunday. As I lay in bed procrastinating getting up I realized that it was only Sunday. Yay! One more day of freedom! Happy happy.

We Really Screwed Things Up

For several years selling books I loved the business so much that I worked every day, even weekends. I liked weekdays better because I could go shopping and encounter far fewer people at the store or on the road. But then when I lost interest in the business and it became a burden, every day was a workday with few days off.

How did we get to the place where five days out of the week are dreaded or tolerated to get to the other two? When I was in the working world I hated Monday and most of the days following it. We’ve given Wednesday the name “hump day” because the tedious climb through the week is downhill from that day. Hump day? Makes me feel like I’m mining coal. I couldn’t wait to get to Friday night.

Evenings during the week were spent in front of the TV recuperating from the daytime boredom by entering into someone else’s fantasy. When I was younger I escaped in sci-fi or fantasy books or alcohol and sad love songs. Saturday was the day I got everything done, then Sunday was used mostly to build up dread of Monday.

A lot of people choose the weekend to enter into a drug-induced coma so that they miss its glory and end up at Monday none the better for the time off. That’s what I used to do in my twenties. Friday night was the night to enjoy life by getting completely smashed. Saturday usually involved a hangover and depressed condition. Sunday was, again, the day before Monday.

Then there’s the whole housecleaning routine. When I was a child Saturday was the day for chores. Why choose one of the few days off and then spend hours cleaning a house? You mean I have to go to school all week, and now that I don’t have to go I have to polish the furniture, vacuum the carpet, wash the windows and hedge the lawn? What happened to gathering with the tribe, eating together and dancing to drumbeats?

Do farmers dread Monday? Do those people who own a small home, grow their own food, and trade with their neighbors dread Monday?

What Have We Lost? What Have We Gained?

Have we given up five days of the week so we can have the modern appliances, cars, computers, homes, TVs, DVDs, IPODs, constant noise and stimulation? What would it be like to own a small home on a little piece of land. You could grow your own food. You could grow trees to cut and burn for heat. A few livestock, some grain and canned goods could provide sustenance through the winter months. And perhaps a loved hobby could produce goods to be traded for money to buy the other things you can’t make or do for yourself. To make some pocket change to spend at the town coffee shop visiting with your neighbors?

Home in the country That’s how we used to live until the last hundred or so years. There were few corporations. People owned small businesses and traded with others. Neighbors helped neighbors. Yes, I’m sure there was hardship as well, hungry, cold nights, backbreaking work, isolation. But at the end of the day in front of the fire with your boots off, your dog at your feet, your spouse sitting beside you, was having a body capable of such work a reward in itself? Was your exhaustion that of the builder or the consumer? I know I exhaust my mind long before my body grows tired.

We have become slaves of corporate owners who pay us just enough to want more. We are brainwashed into coveting things we don’t need and needing credit to get them. Isn’t there a way to combine the conveniences of modern life with the simplicity of the small country home?

If you love your job, you are in an enviable position. If you love the city, you are most blessed in this age. Please make sure you save up enough money to care for yourself should you lose that job or grow tired of it. If you own a home, pay it off as quickly as possible.

For those who hate their work, think of ways you can get out of it. Do you work a job you hate to pay for an expensive house in the city? How much work would you have to do if you sold that house and moved to a less expensive home or city? A small business can provide income, tax writeoffs, and independence. What do you love to do? Find out what that is and figure out a way to make money from it.

I Met a Farmer Woman

I visited a farm last week owned by a single woman. She has five acres. Her main source of income is raising rabbits for food. She has two long, open-sided buildings with thousands of rabbits. I bought some for my cats. Most of her rabbits feed a local wildlife refuge. She also has a couple cows with names of restaurants (one of them was IHOP) to remind her they are food, not pets. She grows a garden and has many chickens for meat and eggs. She is mostly self-sustaining and well fed. She earns enough to pay her way, pay for her house and land, but not enough to have to pay taxes. But she owns five acres and a nice home in the country and is not far from the city. How hard would that be to duplicate?

The Price of Giving Up Our Independence

We’ve moved away from the country and given over the growing and raising of our food to corporations. And where has that gotten us? We enslave animals and house them in horrific conditions. And we eat that nastiness. Our food is grown and raised with the help of toxic chemicals that make us and the land sick. And simple fluctuations in oil cause the prices to rise or fall. We are at the mercy of others just to eat. If a catastrophe happens or transportation stops, where will you get your food?

I knew a woman who wanted to move out of the city but had to be sure she was near a major hospital. What the hell is that? That’s awful! This woman was obese with high blood pressure and arthritis and was on hormones after the doctors removed her uterus. She invited me to her home for dinner with friends and served a delicious multi-course meal that would make anyone sick over time. And she used to argue with me about health! Like she knew something about the topic. She traded independence for tastebud stimulation.

This is a modern dilemma. I doubt anybody was worried about living near a hospital a hundred years ago, unless he was a doctor, but then he probably had a little family practice in his own home town where the major problems were broken bones, not diabetes, heart disease, and cancer. Do you think you’d need that hospital if you grew your own food, worked your land, took your ease on the porch, played cribbage with your neighbors?

Woodstock

Joni Mitchell is my favorite songwriter and singer, and she eloquently expresses the longing in my soul for connection with the land. She wrote this song about the Woodstock festival, and the song is a classic that has been covered by many bands. It was published in her third album Ladies of the Canyon.

I came upon a child of God
He was walking along the road
And I asked him where are you going
And this he told me
I’m going on down to Yasgur’s farm
I’m going to join in a rock ‘n’ roll band
I’m going to camp out on the land
I’m going to try an’ get my soul free

We are stardust
We are golden
And we’ve got to get ourselves
Back to the garden

Then can I walk beside you
I have come here to lose the smog
And I feel to be a cog in something turning
Well maybe it is just the time of year
Or maybe it’s the time of man
I don’t know who I am
But you know life is for learning

We are stardust
We are golden
And we’ve got to get ourselves
Back to the garden

By the time we got to Woodstock
We were half a million strong
And everywhere there was song and celebration
And I dreamed I saw the bombers
Riding shotgun in the sky
And they were turning into butterflies
Above our nation

We are stardust
Billion year old carbon
We are golden
Caught in the devil’s bargain
And we’ve got to get ourselves
back to the garden

Joni Mitchell
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