As you know, I wasn't feeling too down in the dumps, but then I had a conversation with my mother where she said, "why don't you just move home? You could paint your room again!" By this, she was referring to a semi-creative moment I had when I was about 16 and I painted a juvenile image on my bedroom wall.
It was as if she asked me to return to her womb.
And for her to encourage me to move home scared the bejesus out of me, since all we do is fight like 12 year olds on methamphetamines. I guess my eyes were just ripped opened, revealing how bad the staggering economy has hit them as well.
After spending the day nervous, upset and shaky, I finally resolved to get it together. I drafted my cover letter, and looked up grant writing opportunities around the state, to be correct, I even looked in DC. I realize how little it will take for me to live independently, and how virtually impossible it will be for me to make this little amount of money without getting an actual job, which will cause me to lose what little income is guaranteed me.
So basically, I have to deliver pizzas on a contractual basis, or substitute teach. Look out shitty side work, I'm coming to getcha. I'm on the hunt, and I'm after you.
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