...because you will need to pay $@$#@% self-employment taxes on your measly pitiful flea-bitten advance! D'oh!
INTERN has been having somewhat of a Venerable McPulitzer-induced spiritual crisis and has been spending a lot of time lying in the dark listening to Vampire Roommate's vampire music over iTunes. Elements of said spiritual crisis are fairly stock in nature and boil down to "What is the meaning of Art, really?" and also a feeling of general overwhelmed-ment at the sheer volume of manuscripts in the world versus books actually published (aptly expressed by the Fugees as "too many MCs not enough mics").
Techie Boyfriend has promised to commence work immediately on a time-travel device that will allow INTERN to travel back to a simpler time when monks spent entire days writing a single letter of the alphabet and every book that existed was an object to be treasured and revered by generations.
Over the weekend, INTERN went to a story-telling party organized by some friends, where the most unlikely-looking people set their beer on the carpet, shuffled to the front of the living room and told a story. It was the most enchanting and wonderful thing INTERN has experienced in a long time. So enchanting INTERN is thinking maybe that time-travel device should skip the monks and take her back to a strictly oral culture.
In any event, INTERN is drinking lots of strong tea and expects to be back (and with 80% less angst) in a day or two.