Sometimes I realize that my future is a series of minimum wage jobs until I can’t work and die. That’s many years from now unless something drastic happens. I don’t have the qualifications to get anything other than a minimum wage job. I’m not fit for anything else. I tried working as a coordinator at my current job but it started to burn me out and I had to step down. I’m trying to make my writing a thing I can fall back on but I just don’t think it’s going to work out for me. I know this is inevitable. My future is a dim hallway with locked doors.
And yet I keep trudging along. It’s not hope at something better coming along. Nothing better is coming for me. But I want what is owed to me. What pleasure and joy I can get out of my life I want it. It’s not much but it’s mine.
“It’s little, and broken, but still good. Yeah – still good.”
I’m okay. This is just some thoughts I wanted to put to post.