Do I need to say more?

Look, I’m immensely grateful for my job. It’s afforded me plenty of opportunities and experiences. It’s helped me achieve many dreams and goals. It keeps me alive.

But ever since I started writing, working a day job became incredibly taxing.

I can’t focus as well as I used to, because I’d rather be writing.

I often feel immensely sad and frustrated, because I’d rather be writing.

Daily, I wish I could walk away, because I’d rather be writing.

I’m consistently furious I don’t win the lottery (which I do buy, don’t ask that dumb question, man), because I’d rather be writing.

And I’ve cried on the way home, because my boss is a nice person but incredibly present, because I feel pushed around all day long, because I’m tired, because I’d rather be writing.

I’m starting to search for a new job, to try and feel better, but I know it won’t really do, because I’d rather be writing.

The hardest part is how aware I am of the fact that writing is a luxury. One I haven’t earned yet.

I could talk about this feeling every day.

I wish one day I’ll be able to earn the luxury of writing my books full-time.

Until then: fuck, having to work for a living just sucks.