I think somewhere along the way I lost myself. It was about the time that I quit dating and quit working. Maybe five-seven years ago? I gave up. I let life convince me that I had no more pull left in me. I lost the excitement of the unknown. I resigned myself to living. But not fully living, perhaps "existing" is the word. It was the time I realized that, no matter how much I didn't want it to, money mattered. That I would truly starve if I didn't do "something." And, in that panic, I did nothing. I still do nothing. I haven't contributed to the world in years. I am the worst. What I have to contribute is not about money. I am about ideas. I am an ideal. Ideals don't pay. I hate PB&J, vegetable soup made from frozen vegetables and egg whites on toast. I want real food. I want a bed that I didn't buy from a bedbug-ridden bodega on Broadway. I want clothes that I didn't get free at some stupid party. I want to be inspired and earn a living. That is not happening for me. I hope someone reads this years down the road and I am super accomplished. I hope they see that every "artist" struggles. I hope that day comes. Why do I think it won't?