I am sitting here on my sofa listening to a horror story, writing for the first time in weeks. This makes me sad because when I write I love the feel of adventure, magic, and the worlds you make in your words. The feeling that I am being swallowed in every word I write and every memory I recoil.
These last couple of weeks have been hard, trying to find a job and realizing that my time is running out. I struggling to keep the hope in my voice when I talk and think about what I will do when I leave, with no money.
When I think about my next step on my path, It is to find a part-time job that I can do for 2 months, making all the money that I can possibly make in the time that I have left. But I know that I can´t give up about trying and hoping that I will make it through this tough spot that I have dug for myself.
If I had a choice about making money, I would write, create and express in anything with the arts, to make the money. But at this time, I need any work that will produce my money.
But I am not giving up hope. I have got some time left.
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