Since the idea for Punk Rat Life was born over the weekend, I have been working non-stop to make it a reality. This has involved things I have never done before, and things I (and Doc) did not think I was capable of. Full disclosure, I have been off my meds for three weeks. I don’t know what is going on with my brain, but I’m not going to question it, and I am going back on my meds just as soon as I can afford the $500.
I have done research.
I have done math (a lot of math, maybe too much math).
I have scheduled business meetings.
I have drafted letters of inquiry and letters of sponsorship agreement.
I have spent, literally, hours on the phone finding potential sponsors.
I have researched and created a comprehensive, concise Kickstarter proposal.
I have organized Kickstarter pledge gift costs (still more math).
I am waiting on a phone call, an email, and a conversation with my next door neighbor, who owns a grooming salon, to launch the Kickstarter campaign.
I have carefully researched and planned out my project, from start to perpetual continuation. I have it all down on paper, in nauseating detail. I have calculated my projected costs, including incidentals like printer ink and transportation. I have placed an ad for a part time assistant to volunteer in exchange for a glowing letter of recommendation and project credit and creative input. I have joined every existing rat-oriented group on Facebook and started commenting and participating, asking rat owners to tell me about their rat breeds and experiences.
Now? Just the waiting. I’m going to make some preliminary graphics for the Kickstarter, youtube channel and Facebook page. Once I get the rats, the graphics will be redone with them as the stars, instead of “random stock photo rat” that I am using now.
And in the middle of this, I had to reformat my hard drive and re-install Windows and all of my software. And deal with some piece of trash digging through the back of our truck (we’re getting a video security system this weekend, apparently the bars on the windows, security screens, and security vestibule are not enough to deter people from bugging us. Since this is a very low crime suburb, I suspect it’s my neighbor across the street going where she doesn’t belong out of some deluded idea she has gotten about us. Either way, who ever is coming up and poking through our garbage and stuff is going to get caught on camera soon and prosecuted for harassment and trespassing.
I really don’t know what happened. I woke up one day done with the world’s stupidity and injustices, determined to stand up for myself and demand what I want. I realized that I deserved that. I am more surprised by this than anyone, believe me. I have to keep stepping out of myself and checking to make sure that this is real. Because it doesn’t seem real. The lack of meds have given the last few weeks of epiphanies the distinct impression of a long, detailed dream. I have been afraid to sleep. Every time I wake up, I smoke a cigarette and wait for the memories of the last few weeks, and the feeling I have to fade, like a dream, and leave me where I was.
And it keeps not happening. Things just keep getting better and better, in spite of my and Doc’s pervading fear.
Once the Punk Rat Life Kickstarter campaign is posted, all I have to do is distribute fliers to local vets and pet stores, post the URL everywhere appropriate, and wait. Then I can go back to working on the shop and give all of my attention back to that. I’m also planning to do the cookbook next, and take a short break from writing for the internet. I need to get organized and set up to be working on a full time web series.
Doc is . . . gobsmacked. He doesn’t even know the half of what is going on. He just has no clue. I’m not keeping him in the dark, I’m just only telling him the details that directly affect him.
Meanwhile, I am talking to a restaurant about menu consultation and recipe development. Finally, I have found a niche where I have expertise that I can actually get paid for my time. So, we’re courting each other right now. They found me through Instagram, via auto-posts to Twitter. Pictures and descriptions of my food got their attention. Then I let them know I am a retired Executive Chef, and things got interesting. I’ve researched what kind of money is generally charged for this kind of service, based on my education, training and experience, and have come up with an hourly fee and per recipe charge that is below the competition, but still enough to may me well for my time.
Exciting times. I have to keep stopping to check and see if this is actually going on.
But it has to be said that I miss my best friend to share this with. The knowledge that she wouldn’t be supportive, interested, or happy for me tempers that a bit, though. It is what it is. It would seem that it is time for me to stand up on my own and prove to myself that everything I was ever told about myself was a complete lie. I’m a little taken aback, but overall, I’m okay with it.