You know, there are days I really do believe I am in the wrong profession and in the wrong skin. Like I took a wrong turn all those years ago and there’s no going back.
Besides my inability to go outside or actually be around people, I now feel like a failure as a journalist, editor, artist and human being.
Maybe I should have taken up plumbing, or macrame, or neurosurgery, or maybe even automotive repair. Or maybe I should have just married a filthy-rich man when I still had my good looks – like any of those ever presented themselves.
I make $500 a month (for the next few months at least until that can of gravy runs out), and yet I work for more than 10 hours a day, 7 days a week. My bills are about $1500 a month. I can’t pay my taxes. I can’t pay for health care. I can’t even buy a $2 piece of fucking cheese. Shit, I can’t even afford cat litter until next week…and that’s if I’m lucky. And good luck on having electricity after today. Bill was due a few days ago and I’m too busy scraping the rest of next month’s rent together. (NOTE TO SELF: Charge devices now)
What am I doing?! 48 years old and I have absolutely nothing to show for it. I made all the wrong decisions. Trusted all the wrong people. Did the wrong things. Followed a path that should have had warning signs.
I have no driver’s license. No car. No credit. Nothing real. Nothing solid. Who am I kidding. I must BE nothing.
So there you have it. I’m on the verge of giving up, signing out, and taking the next train outta here. If only it was that easy. But then again, if I was presented with such a train, I couldn’t even gather up enough gumption to board the damn thing. I’m fucked. Oh well.
Life goes on, I suppose.