I wondered whether I’d be able to eat next week. Possibly Daiso food. Hmm, that was a positive thought.
I refused to beg for money and there was no way in hell I was selling my body. I doubted that anyone would buy it anyway; at least not the type of people I would want to buy it.
It sucked being poor.
I needed a job that paid.
Like all creative souls I knew I was never going to be rich. I took comfort in knowing that other writers and artists struggled with the same problems as me. But that didn’t really make me feel any better.
I needed to get off my arse and try really hard. I needed to be persistent and almost annoying.
Give me a job give me a job give me a job give me a job give me a job.
Maybe that was what I needed to replicate, not money after all.