I write. It’s my “thing.” A little more than a hobby, closer to an obsession. I write, in one form or another, everyday. That said, there are different levels of effort, different audiences I address, and different goals I have for my writing. When I work on a blog post, I have a totally different understanding of how my words will affect an audience than they would if I was writing a fictional piece.

The unifying factor of all of these different functions and methods? They’re my words, my expression. Whether I successfully make a living out of my writing at some point in the future or am merely screaming into a hole in the dirt, one truth remains:

I need money to survive.

and feed this sweet baby puppy

I’m not a trust fund baby. I didn’t marry rich—I’m marrying for love. That being the case, I spend more time working for a company than I do for myself. That’s okay.

When I was a kid, I wanted to be an artist like my mom. I don’t think it’s unusual to want to grow up to be like your parents when you’re but a wee child. When I thought of my mom, I saw her working on her watercolors on the dining room table, blasting her grunge at eardrum piercing volumes.

The thing is, art don’t always pay the bills.

I think we’re all fairly adult here, and can understand that sad truth.

So my mother didn’t work solely for herself. With a family to support, she seemed to always find a day job to work part time, enough to hopefully cover some of the costs of living—and, I’m sure, her manic shopping habits (more about that, as well as mine, at some point), but that’s neither here nor there.

She taught me the necessity of working a day job and the importance of taking time for yourself, and your personal endeavors.

A lot of day jobs, in my opinion, tend to be entirely tiresome especially if they have little or no connection to what you love in your personal life. If I had my way, I’d never work for anyone else ever again. I like a reason to get out of the house as much as anyone, but knowing that I have to devote 40 hours a week to someone else can be a source of anxiety for me. Part of that is the nature of my job–it has nothing to do with putting words on a page (or screen).

There are ways around that. When I work harder and with more focus on my own endeavors, I can handle other people’s with a higher degree of energy and care. The more I take care of my brain, the better I get at using that mindset in other settings, and am able to come back home and work on the things I need to work on.

Published by Damaged Chemistry

The writer of this blog lives in Seattle with her fiancé and small dog, where she enjoys swearing, quitting smoking, and pretending to be altogether rather more tough than I would say she is.

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