I’m at the McDonald’s across the street from the bank.
I had one of those break downs last night– the crying under my down comforter on the couch in the middle of the night – sort of break downs. I’ve had this rage building in me since last year, and I was due for a good cry anyway.
I’m having an extremely difficult time dealing with the fact that I’m very good at my banking job, so good that I’ve been promoted, and have gone above and beyond the sales goals set by my company. What I haven’t been doing is writing. I’ve had fits and starts, but nothing concrete. I no longer write comics–yet two of my best written titles will see print this year, so I mope and consider what I want to be, which is a successful writer, and struggle with the fact that, I’m not. I’m better in the bank then I am in creative writing. I spent my whole life geared toward something in the entertainment biz, and yet here I am, in banking.
I’ve let my disappointment overrun my life to the point that I find joy in nothing. Not my successes at work, or at home. I need to get past this.