I Dream

I dream of being a writer who spends her days sunbathing in a picture window while tapping the keys to form the next best seller, Or, hunched over the bar in a coffee shop somewhere unfamiliar scrawling out the next short story into a worn out Moleskine. Never mind it is completely impossible to write the “next” best seller when you haven’t completed the first plain old book.

Time has been an excuse around writing since the job change. I’ve blamed my lack of documented word growth on the stress and time demands of my new position. My need to Uber part time to supplement my income since the new promotion has been another excuse. All of this being typed out on a brand new MacBook I did not need to purchase, and then would have allowed for twenty-three-hundred dollars to be knocked off my ever growing student loan balance. But, I’m actually narcissistic enough to cry about lack of time and focus.

The real question is between two scenarios. I am so self centered and materialistic I’d rather spend each second of the day earning a dollar towards the next thing I can purchase. Or, I am terrified of my writing and the possibility of creating something no one will like, and I am keeping myself in a cycle of debt so I do not have the freedom to fail?

 

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