After Matt and Groupon left me for someone else, I went into a minor “I must write for money” frenzy and started googling “online writing jobs” over and over again, certain the next site would want more than just another finance writer. There was the woman in Sacramento who wanted someone to write her book for fifty dollars and also the start-up magazine for girls between ages 9-13 looking for a writer who specialized in BFF’s and lip liner. Other than that, most of the jobs available were for people who know HTML or NASDAQ.
Then, I saw “we provide professional projects for creative-minded writers” and “become a writer!” on something like essaywriters.com. A project! I love the sound of “project.” Even better, an essay project. I thought maybe they were looking for a MWF w/ C who likes long walks, dogs, and writing about coffee spoon symbolism in “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock.”
I noticed that the list of projects available included topics like “definition essay on social class” and “advertising analysis.” The “analyze Freudian undertones in Oedipus Rex” project would bring in $44.67. It took longer than it should have, but I realized soon enough that I was about to apply to write the papers I was, in my other life, assigning students to write.
I clicked out of the naughty site and immediately confessed to Aaron in an email subjected “hate myself” and signed “I feel gross.” Having clocked 50 hours each week in homework and original essay writing at Davidson, Aaron showed no mercy and responded, “You should. Take a bath.”
So, it’s back to sequencing yoga routines and checking for proper semi-colon usage until I can stay out of trouble on the internet.