I have been meaning to write a long-winded blog post about my personal problems, but I keep putting it off because I have been focusing on writing funny and getting to the point.
I have also been focusing on drawing pictures.
With that said, my life is falling apart. Seriously. I am practically 30 years-old and work the cash register at a grocery store making $10/hour.
My biweekly paychecks average $440.
I am poor.
A few weeks ago, I visited the Illinois Department of Human Services website and filled out the online application for food stamps. I never wanted to rely on the government like that, but when your savings is quickly disappearing and your car’s check engine light won’t go off and bringing it into the mechanic takes $100 out of your pocket and leaves you with a $500 repair to think about, you tend to freak out a bit.
The last thing I want to do is move back in with my parents. I can no longer rely on them to provide me with shelter. If I continue to rely on them for shelter, I will cease to mature into a responsible adult OR cease to exist, as moving back in with my parents at 30 would, and should, most likely lead to suicide.
I don’t own a gun.
I am taking responsibility for my actions.
Back when I was 21, I got the idea in my head that I could become a writer. Not just any writer, but a paid writer. During these “I can become a paid writer” years, I worked a bunch of crappy/low-wage jobs due to the fact that my main interest was writing, and I was afraid that a somewhat decent job would distract me from getting that paid writing gig.
After years of writing and receiving numerous rejections, I realized that becoming a paid writer is nearly impossible and went from “I can become a paid writer” to “I can become a paid teacher of writing.”
For the past two years, I applied to graduate schools in an effort to obtain my MFA in Creative Writing, which would enable me to teach. Obviously, I was not accepted last year. This year, I have been denied to three of the seven schools I applied. I don’t feel optimistic about my chances. It appears that my writing does not appeal to the academics.
The reason I want to teach is because I have serious issues when it comes to working most jobs and believe teaching, for whatever reasons, would be more tolerable. But who knows? The more I think about it, the more I am coming to terms with the reality that I may have to get one of those 9 to 5, wake up and want to shoot yourself in the face jobs. I just need to find a way to work one of those 9 to 5, wake up and want to shoot yourself in the face jobs without actually shooting myself in the face, because I don’t think my boss would like if I showed up to work faceless.
There are times I feel as if I have wasted many, many years writing and chasing some unattainable dream. Fulfilling whatever void inside of me with art has been great but also leaves me with a powerful sadness and disappointment when it comes to reality and work and other parts of life that I have romanticized inside my head beyond any sort of rational limits. Nothing will ever be as good as it once was.
As you can see, this downfall has been all my fault. I don’t blame anyone but myself. I think everyone has to do whatever it is they have to do, and I guess I had to write and work horrible jobs for years and years until I became this poor, practically 30 year-old that works the cash register at a grocery store and writes stories that people who teach at colleges aren’t that interested in.
I don’t necessarily regret my life/writing decisions but the anxiety of living a poor and unpredictable life is not fun. Some people may think I am okay with it, but I am not. Everyday I ask myself, “What the fuck are you doing?”
My savings continues to disappear and $500 car repair remains to be fixed. Also, after talking with the caseworker from the Illinois Department of Human Services and learning that my monthly food stamp allowance would only be around $60/month, I withdrew my application.
In the next month, I will know whether or not I was accepted to any of the four remaining graduate schools I applied. If accepted, I will continue to work my $10/hour grocery job till August. If declined, I will take responsibility for my actions and search for a 9 to 5, wake up and want to shoot yourself in the face job, because if I don’t get a 9 to 5, wake up and want to shoot yourself in the face job, I will eventually run out of money and have to move back in with my parents.
And you know what that means.
I would have to kill myself.
I don’t own a gun.
If you would like to avoid Babushka Hell, please subscribe to my mailing list: