Trained by consequence (and the lash)

I feel really soul sick. Just… awful. All around bad and I don’t even know. Overwhelmed, frozen. I just want to sleep and sleep. Forcing myself to get up and actually *exercise* felt like an impossible feat… but I did it. It might be partially because of hormones but I feel terrible. I’ve hardly done any work and I need to do a ton more before the week is out… and before next week… and just every day all the time for as long as there’s work for me to do. I made enough to pay rent. Basically nothing left but oh well I guess. Maybe next week I’ll get a tiny taste. Jesus. What the fuck is wrong with me? I feel so incapable of doing anything. Incapable of taking care of myself, incapable of taking care of my animals. I will take care of them tho. I want reptilinks but they’re really expensive , and no guarantee my snakes will even eat them. Soooo I guess that’ll have to wait a while. I intend to try them eventually tho. -shrugs- Remember that one stretch of time…. where for months and months I had perfect, reliable freelance work? I knew exactly how many I would have each week, and exactly how much money I would make. Do you remember? And it was the perfect amount to cover all of my expenses, plus a little left over for some small luxuries. It was article writing, I was good at it and I don’t think it killed my soul too much. Not as much as these do… It was a Friday to Friday schedule and I knew how many I had to do each day to do that, and I knew that I could take the weekend off before starting the next batch. The weekends were mine, but I knew more work was waiting for me, so I didn’t have to worry about that. And almost every Friday…plus quite a few Saturdays… we did *things*. And pretty regularly I would cook interesting, fun, good, experimental meals. (meals I would not always feed to myself). I dunno… Looking back on that stretch of time through rose rose red NostalgiaVision(tm) I feel like it was one of the happiest times in my life. The consistency… the reliability of it all… I miss that. I’m sick of the stress that my unreliable income causes. I’m sick of how my soul feels like it needs to be scoured after pouring these words through myself for days and days and days. I don’t know how to scour it. Please, tell me how I can scour it. I just have to keep doing more and more and as many as I can while the work is available. It won’t be for long and when it’s gone who knows? Not me… that’s who.


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