Wasted

I'm sitting here at home, winding down my first day of the week in my newly cleaned room.

I didn't go to work today. Instead, I spent most of the morning cleaning and disinfecting my wound. I got a needle to pick on the clotted blood, but I chickened out so I just dipped my foot on peroxide and let the chemicals do it's job.

For such a simple injury the wound turned out to be quite severe...butt ugly in fact. It looks like a rat took a chunk out of my tiny toe.

Anyway, it's off to work tomorrow. I still have to decide what outfit to wear, considering that I have to wear shoes that won't hurt my foot. I may end up wearing sneakers to work, since they'd be the only thing soft enough to both hide and protect my toe.

I'm trying to work a deal with Luis for a part time job. I told him that I needed a part time job for this August and that I didn't mind that I'd be stuck in HR calling people. I already did that before, and boring though it may be, I was pretty good at it.

I'm looking for something that will at least pay me 5-6k a month for part time, since i'm going to need some covering money for some bills. Luis was offering me a full time job, but I declined since I told him I wanted to take some writing classes.

...

Funny isn't it? The one reason why I'd wanted to become a professional at something was so I could avoid the creative route.

I'm too lazy for the creative route, too weak hearted and just no spine for it.

But i'm here anyway, which goes to show that no matter how hard you try, you'll always end up in where you most want to be. It doesn't matter how scared you are, or how undprepared. Sometimes, you just have to jump into it, otherwise you'll never really get the courage to get there.

I didn't want to live an unstable life. Didn't want to ever face rejection. I just wanted to stay in my little cocoon where I kept telling myself that I was a writer, mainly because I was too scared to prove it.

It's only now that I'm learning that you are a writer, no matter what other people say. Words are in your blood, bleeding out into your soul. No one can dispute that, no matter how many rejections you get or how many failed attempts you get from doing a story. You are a writer, nobody can change that.

So you don't have what they need, big deal. Those words are still yours, and no one has the right to take that away from you.