The irony of money.

I once again feel the pinch of not having quite enough money in the bank, and having to do my work just to alleviate this feeling makes me want to just abandon the whole project and go live in the woods. It takes the joy out of writing to know I am on a self-imposed deadline to get it done.

I have to complete the assignment I have to get just enough to squeak by, again, and that makes me want to ignore it and let the whole thing implode. But I know I alone will be left to clean up my own mess, so it would just result in more work in an increasingly agitated state.

I hate everything today and it is because of the need for money, and I realize that if I just got enough to cover costs my mood would immediately improve. What is the point of all of this drowning, recovering, and drowning all over again? I’ve yet to find an answer that makes any sense.

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