raen

I wouldn't even say money is the issue... it's the fact that I have to work at something else when wishing to work at what I want and get paid for it. It's being stuck there. A nurse on my floor just finished reading my book and asked the question I keep getting asked... why are you here? I have to eat. I need power and water. Gotta pay back those loans that got me through college which I attended to do something not related to what I'm doing. It's ironic, things solidify for me when everything falls apart. I seem to thrive on crisis; a coworker and I decided years ago we needed to be stormchasers because we enjoyed sandbagging the doors of our store during hurricane evacuations more than our daily work there. It's the mundane, day to day trials that drive me to emergency rooms with anxiety. The quest for money is what has driven me to a standstill. It's trite, but I had this belief that the lottery millions were mine. In my very soul I feel it was to come to pass. It has driven me to sit back a wait. It has robbed me of attempting anything, which is bad since even rich I wouldn't find purpose with my life, only a way out. Money is nice, but I'd prefer being me now and being able to weave tales and creating my inner world, unhindered.

Your therapist gives you books to read, my doctor (nurse practitioner, actually) prescriped me psychotropic drugs (of which I'm trying not to take). Hope your reading is getting better results.


Tithing Time? I've added another since then, too; Love of Country. You can find them both here

By the way, had a dream the other night that would make an interesting tale. I'm hoping to start it this weekend (after the work days are over; and what a coincidence, it's about the end of the world).