Gig work hell: money and marriage part two

A free & unpaywalled personal life catchup

When I was home in Connecticut over the holidays, I told my family I’ve started dog walking as a side hustle. My sister, god love her, asked, “On the side of what?” She’s the only person on earth capable of roasting me this hard. I responded, somewhat pathetically, that I’m still a writer, I think.

But who am I kidding anymore: if anything, at this point in my life, I write on the side of the dog business. I’ve gotten more clients, which has meant more repeat clients, which means I’ve been busier, which means I’ve been earning more, which has been a big relief. This newsletter and occasional freelance work still makes up the bulk of my income, but I’ve also had a hard time sustaining my writing “businesses,” as they’re deemed on my taxes. Hence the dog sitting.

Of course, walking and caring for people’s precious pets is work, just as my writing is work. Maybe it’s that both pursuits are so undervalued and underpaid that I struggle to categorize them as my own “businesses” rather than my desperate efforts to make money to live on while being exploited by evil corporations who increasingly rely on cheap gig labor.

In 2018, NPR predicted that contract workers could make up half the workforce within a decade. Their poll with Maris that year found that 1 out of every 5 American workers is a freelancer. According to LinkedIn’s Future of Recruiting report, there were far more contract worker positions advertised than full-time ones in 2023: 26% more when compared to the same period from May to December of 2022. Full-time roles, meanwhile, grew by only 6%. The number of people doing gig work in the UK, where I now live, has also grown substantially over the last ten years.

I think my attempt to pass off dog sitting as a fun little side gig to my family came from a place of shame. I was cosplaying as a richer person: Toni Colette in In Her Shoes, who quit her stuffy, high-paid corporate law job to walk dogs and find herself. But I’m assuming Toni, unlike her trainwreck of a dyslexic sister, played by Cameron Diaz, never really needed the money. (Cameron’s character, incidentally, also finds fulfillment as well as financial stability in gig work, ultimately starting her own personal shopping business at her formerly estranged grandmother’s retirement community—something I would also obviously love to do. God, I that movie rules.)

I told my family over the holidays that all this time I’ve been spending around animals has me wondering if I should get certified as a self-insured all-in-one boarder and groomer—start a real business where I wouldn’t have to give 20% of my earnings to an app. “Dog grooming’s a perfectly good job,” one relative said, “But I still think you’d make such a great teacher. Can you please promise me you’ll look into getting certified to teach?”

I do think that I’d make a good teacher. It’s what I always thought I’d end up doing growing up, since I loved writing and reading but had zero interest in journalism. I’ve been looking into it, but I really don’t feel like going back to school right now, especially because that means paying money I don’t have for a degree while not earning anything. And I’ve got bills; I’ve got debt. Most of all, I desperately want to get to a point where Lynette and I are evenly splitting our household expenses.

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about how most of my adult life I’ve been in long-term relationships, and how significantly that’s benefited me financially—all the privileges I’ve enjoyed that single people don’t. Society is set up to benefit couples far more than any other kind of household or familial arrangement. I don’t think I was consciously getting into or staying in relationships for the monetary perks, but especially when you start living together, a partnership inevitably becomes a financial arrangement just as much as it is an emotional one.

As a teenager I always had multiple jobs, and I worked really hard to get myself to college without any support, financially, emotionally or otherwise, from my parents. The only place I wanted to go was a stupidly expensive private liberal arts school. I told myself this was because I’d attended a prospective students day on campus while I was a junior in high school and sat in on a creative writing class with the extraordinary professor who’d go on to be my thesis adviser. (Blanche is now a subscriber to this newsletter—Hi, Blanche! That day in class you read Tobias Wolff’s “Bullet in the Brain,” and it altered the trajectory of my life. Thank you.) But Blanche’s class was really just the confirmation I needed to follow my high school boyfriend to that college; he was a year older than me, and we dated long-distance until I arrived as a freshman.

I loved that boyfriend very much — I probably would have married him if I didn’t finally figure out how gay I am — and he and his family were my primary support system for the nearly five years we were together. After our breakup, I worked one miserable year at my college admissions office before going on to have the time of my single lesbian life for a few months in Paris. After that I moved to New York, and in just a few months I was dating the person I’d move in with and date for almost five years. (Lynette and I are coming up on 5 years together in a few months, and she jokes that this will be our real test: if, for the first time, I’ll finally break the 5 year mark with somebody. I’ve told her I’m pretty sure we’re gonna make it.)

My ex and I moved in together way too fast, which eventually led to our demise. Anyone who lives in an expensive city knows how tempting it is to cohabitate with someone way earlier than you ever would otherwise when it would mean slashing your rent and household expenses in half. The savings are just too tempting.

The year and change I lived by myself in Brooklyn while Lynette and I were long distance ended up being kinda ruinous for me financially; I’d gone from living with roommates for a couple wonderful years to suddenly paying three times the rent, and I struggled to adjust my lifestyle accordingly, especially during long bouts of debilitating depression.

Now that I’ve made it to the UK, Lynette covers the bulk of our bills while I’m getting back on my feet. It’s a dynamic that stresses me out, as I wrote in my last post:

Money, marriage, starting over

From Lynette’s comment corner that week: “I believe our dynamic is complicated due to age, nationality and general outlook on life, rather than how much each of us contributes to the communal pot.” She also pointed out that “It’s not unusual for there to be an earning discrepancy in relationships.” She’s right; I love her and appreciate her so much for trusting that our dynamic, like our earnings, will continue to change and evolve over time.

I also love and appreciate her for dealing with all the dogs running amok in our house. I’ve learned a hard lesson this week about properly vetting new clients. Most of the people and their dogs I’ve worked with in the past have been lovely, and relatively well behaved, but this week I didn’t go with my gut feeling when, during our meet and greet pre-booking, the owner of two ten-year-old yorkipoos didn’t divulge much about their routines or behavior before skedaddling. They’ve now arrived for 5 days of day care at our house with matted hair and bad attitudes. One of them’s okay, but the other barks at us whenever we’re moving around the house, which has kept poor Lynette trapped upstairs, working from our bedroom. As I write this I’ve been putting off peeing for way too long, afraid of disturbing the slumbering menaces beside me.

At least Gus is having fun. But I really do not want to keep doing this longterm.

Yesterday I received a rejection from a communications job I’d thought I would be perfect for. At this point I would really appreciate just getting an interview—somewhere, anywhere. The other day I had an informational phone call with the woman hiring for a couple new library positions (I’d love love love to work at the library), and she told me there’s already been a ton of interest and the process would be extremely competitive. I was talking to her two days after the listings went up. These are jobs that pay less than 25,000 pounds a year. If you haven’t heard, the UK is now officially in a recession.

And yet!! There’s much to be joyful about and thankful for. Lynette and I are having fun scouring the charity shops and working on DIY projects around the house; we’ve finally got the bare bones of the guest room set up for when my dad comes to visit in a couple weeks. I have an assignment from a local paper to write about discovering lesbian nightlife here in Liverpool and how it compares to what I experienced back in New York, so this weekend Lynette and I are gonna hit the town. Then I’m going to force myself to go to some queer events by myself, like the TuesGAY rock climbing social at the climbing gym. I love thinking about all the people I’ll one day love whom I haven’t yet met.

Lynette’s Comment Corner

So between the barking scruffs, as I call them, and the chaos of working from home while being spied on and viewed with suspicion — in my own bloody house! — it’s been a weird and funny week.

I’ve watched a hell of a lot of TV and am hooked on an BBC Irish drama called Kin. If you can watch it, I highly recommend, as it deals with families’ power struggles, matriarchy versus patriarchy within a family under attack by their enemies and their self destructive selves.

I’m also nearing the end of Suits, which i took very seriously to begin with but now just chuckle along with the cast as they stomp into each other’s offices, deliver speeches with Shakespearean gusto then cat walk model themselves onto the next victim of a tongue lashing. ( I’ve never heard "I couldn’t give a shit” and “What did you just say to me??” so many times in 45 minutes.)

Finally, as per the norm in our relationship, we’re going to be separated next week when Shannon goes to meet her family in Ireland — this after she spent last week dog-sitting at someone’s house in another part of the city. However while shorty’s ( all 5’9 of her) with her kinfolk, I’ve got a ton of DIY to do and hope the plumber turns up to upgrade the bathroom sink and shower door.

What I’m most looking forward to, though, is hearing how loud my new Marley speakers are (sorry in advance, neighbours) and assembling my Airfix Audi TT. Maximum butch energy activated.

Thank you so much for reading.

No matter what tier of subscriber you are, I’d love to know what you’d like to read in my next post: Thoughts on all the excellent personal essays that went viral in the Cut this past month/the current state of memoir on the internet, OR the latest (awful) season of True Detective, my rewatch of the brilliant first season, and the show’s creator’s sexist meltdowns about it all, OR a general culture catchup of the best books I’ve read and movies TV shows I’ve watched lately, OR more life/work updates and marriage stuff? Please respond to this poll!!

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Til next time,

xxSK