I don’t feel like much of a writer and I haven’t in a long time. I don’t feel like much of anything to anyone either. I am much better these days at choosing my thoughts – recognizing the harmful ones and throwing them away before they take root, like a weed in concrete. I’ve been living on a credit card and a lot of fucking prayer lately. I put the last of my checking account in my gas tank, and now I’m running up my credit card balance ’til pay day. The real toll of all this is that it makes me feel so exhausted and worn down. To live a struggle like this all alone and have no one along for the ride. The driver seat of my car is worn, but the passenger seat is pristine. Being happy and exhausted would not be that bad, I imagine. Being exhausted and in love would not be that bad, I imagine.
I am thankful for what I do have, but I’ll be hungry at work tomorrow. I’ll smell other peoples’ lunches and see their carry-out sandwiches. They will seem like wealthy people to me just because of that. Yesterday, I crept around the office in my dirty pants hoping for some treats or sweets in the break room. There were none.