Talk about using my writing for evil. Talk about feeling soul sick about it. I’m writing some shit about dodging taxes by setting up offshore business shit. Honestly, I accepted the assignment without even knowing what they wanted me to write, just because I needed the work. But now I feel pretty dirty and gross about it. Honestly, I would probably have been like “just kidding, I can’t write this” except it’s a pretty new client and I’m trying to build up a good relationship with them. Last week: articles about gardening and garden pests. This week: fucking tax dodging grossness. Like… okay… I wonder if my parents would be willing to bankroll me for a couple months if I used those months to write the stupid fucking novel that they are always bugging me to write. Like… I’m so fucking cynical I guess, compared to them. I like to think of it as more realistic really, but whatever. Like… between my whole family combined, we’ve come up with a lot of fucking cool creative shit, and nothing has ever really come from any of it. No real money, no real success. But still, when I talk to my mom about money, about what I should do with my life, most of her ideas are outlandish creative stuff. Write a novel, start a pie making company… like… what?? I love her optimism and stuff, honestly, but idk. It just seems… so unrealistic. idk. I need something reliable. I’m stressing myself to death. Seriously, it’s not cool and not good how much I’m stressing about everything. I need to chill the hell out. I need to figure out what I should do and fucking do it. I can’t go around with this huge anxiety knot in my stomach every fucking second, choking me, strangling me, boiling up and up and up. Tomorrow is the primary for my state, I already voted a few days ago, and then spent my Saturday morning at a totally bizarre delegate voting meeting, where I almost *became* a fucking delegate for my precinct, but then someone who actually wanted to do it showed up, so I didn’t have to, which was cool. yeah. I drank way too much this weekend, allowed myself to drink last night because of how stressed and anxious I was feeling. A couple hours of peace, at a high price. Saturday night was the nicest, I felt relatively free and had quite a bit of fun with my S.O. yeah. I dunno. I dunno what this post is about, and I dunno. I think now is a good time for me to go.