That is what I told Rosa a moment ago. She's worried about and concerned what I will do next. She feels I am not ready for work. I feel like a trapped animal. I hate money and the power it wields over people. I wish I lived in a utopia where all were fairly clothed, housed, and fed. Everything has a dollar amount attached to it these days. Thoreau's Walden comes to mind as I write this -- about how a man shouldn't make a living by the sweat of his brow, unless he sweats easier than he.
I've never been without an income -- never in my life. I always worked or had disability. It is almost zero hour and the time is nigh. I set out for another adventure in the world of working. My biggest fear? I will get paranoid and have a panic attack which will just paralyze me for more than an hour. I've been homeless and nothing seems as daunting as this. I wonder how people do it day in and day out -- a life of drudgery and not being able to call their time their own -- being bought and sold like a commodity on a trading floor.
A myriad of thoughts are rifling through my head as I write this. "You can always go live homeless in Nashville if worse comes to worse," I told myself if I can't hold down a job, and, "No one goes hungry in America." It is sad that I am already thinking of last ditch efforts. I should show more confidence in myself.
I feel like such an odd soul -- the odd man out. "Normal life" is eluding and escapes me. I sometimes wish I were a simpler soul -- less complex and mentally addled -- that would be happy in a minimum wage job. The best of both worlds? That I could sit and write all day. Maybe I will try Associated Content and Helium to see if I can drum up some extra cash. I was making around $200 to $300 dollars a month with the Google Ads. Were there is a will, there is a way. I know that is a trite and often used cliche, but it works for me.
I often look back over my life as compared to my brother's and sister's and the only lasting thing I have to show for it is a sparsely read blog on the Internet. Three years of my life is plastered across the Internet for people to read. Writing is the only thing that comes natural to me, and that is easy for me to do. Everything else is a struggle as my family tries to force this square peg into the proverbial round hole. Life is tedious and a terrible struggle -- always scrambling like some idiot to put food in my belly and jumping through tons of red tape to keep my disability so I can pay my utility bills. I feel like I don't even own my life. I am just plain tired.