Working. I like working. I like busy. But is it the right thing for me? Paycheck to paycheck, a salary that puts me well below the New York City poverty line, no ambition or realistic scenario would have me leave New York for anywhere else. I am a poorie working a decent job with good people but the pay is deficient and finding something part time on the side is just not within my possibility at this time. I still maintain my web properties and they mean a lot to me, but they earn a fraction of what they used to, which is a lrge part of why I wanted to go back to working a regular job again. I feel llucky to even have this job. Had I pursued work in the tech realm I would have failed on all counts based largely on age discrimination. But perhaps I use that as a preemptive excuse to cover the fact that I simply did not want to do that kind of stuff professionally anymore, and if I saw so much as one more line of comoputer code I would hyperventilate. Of course that was 3 years ago, before I found a doctor that prescribed me appropriate meds to deal with the aNXIETY AND HYPERTENSION. wHAT WOULD HAVE MADE ME HYPERVENTILATE AND GO TO WHITE 3 YEARS AGO CAN STILL make me itch inside but if the meds are in me I mostly just take the abuse, let people take advantage of me, I let myself fall into my usual patterns of making myself vulnerable to abusive relationships. I practically create the abuse from others; I summon it. 

But the question I ask myself this day, this specific day of August 10, 2024, is if coming to work like this is really and genuinely the right thing to be doing with the rest of my life. I am going to pop another anxiety med today, a little extra, to smooth the edges, trim the mental callousses. I threw extra meds into my bag today because I’m going to the girl’s place tonight. I don’t need extra meds on account of going to her place but going overnight anywhere, for me, always occurs with a hint of never coming home again, or staying longer than my invitation. So extra meds and extra provisions are prudent, not anticipatory. 

Note to self: You are still a child inside.