I sometimes ask myself: “Buttercup, why do you want to become a writer? Why not a nurse, or maybe someone like a nurse who does a lot of good in the world for nothing in return? Why be just another greedy writer wannabe billionaire?” Okay, my goal of $10,167 a month is a high earning for a writer but some make it, especially if one were to harness one’s self-compassion to make lucrative amounts of resilience that can be used in urgent situations requiring being your biggest fan opposed to your worst critic.
A similar question is … okay, writing is a weapon of mass destruction and even profound creation but why would I want to put effort into reading a bunch of books just to become a better writer so that I can be published when I could choose to simply keep it at journaling? Personally, privacy is a virtue but it is not something I cling to. In 2022, you can find anyone on the internet, there are no boundaries. But I want to write my thoughts, feelings, and perspective to some readers who may also be writers.
I had spoken this with someone I trust. This person told me making a living to buy things is not greedy. Surprised, I told him I wanted to apply for an additional part-time job. I elaborated that this desire to apply myself was partly because I am bored as a checker and need to spend my time elsewhere and also largely due to my dissatisfaction with all the treasures fruited from my position.
Things and materials I buy are mostly amazon products like a whole umbrella of art supplies from mixed media sketchbooks to a family business-owned color pencils, queer-fairy-core dresses with fish/mermaid motifs on the soft yet cheap fabric, and movie tickets for self-compassion solo dates. But in the long term, I want to move out to live with my boyfriend where we will ultimately prioritize needs over this wants that have a 88% of taking a sleep in the storage garage suite that costs Americans all this money and heartache to the Earth, as energy is not being repurposed. What a waste!
Recently, school started again. Parents are sending their kids to be educated and also out of their hair which is good for everyone including the future, yet for me, it means my true one and only is going off to college. I will not say which college because he has asked me to not speak of it, but I will wholeheartedly scream from the rooftops how much my aching soul misses his face.
Sometimes, I think I need an interesting life so that I can write juicy words that people would pay money for and tell others it was worth every cent from the mint. Then, I decide to screw it. My life is as bland as crackers no cheese so why don’t I just twist words till they become sweet like Twizzlers candy? But then I recall a day at work when my supervisor told me I was required to check every customer out in my line until I could have my one and only break lasting fifteen minutes. Do NOT ever tell that to a face value Autistic-bipolar woman who drinks a lot of H2O because she is worried about her liver due to the side affects of certain meds she takes! At this point, a bigger water bottle had replaced my inadequate smaller one. This bigger and better water bottle is half a gallon. Little did I know, the best way to drink all that within 4-6 hours was to add a pinch of salt to the lemon and water mixture, just to retain. Long story short, the customers came along, even new customers who had not even put their groceries on the belt, allowing for my bladder to explode just as I reached the womens’ room. If something like accidentally peeing yourself in public in the midst of a shift is not an embarrassing thing that happened, you have not lived.
I am currently reading Stephen King’s memoir about tips on Writing. I think that he had beginnings different than mine. Right from his earliest days, his catholic school seemed to acknowledge his raw talent. Looking back, I can sort of see this in my own academic upbringing. In grade school, my partner would always be the best chorus singer. The trend snowballed into writing partners for English assignments who were much better liked by the teacher than me. The kids I was forced to work with were even better at life like socializing and whatnot. But ultimately, nothing I have ever written has ever been published yet I write a lot. Whereas, looking at Mr. Lord Byron, virtually everything he wrote was floating around according to Kay Redfield Jamison within her touched by fire book, absolutely lovely!
Soar to high heights my busy brains!
, Butter (she / her)
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