How do people do the freelance writer thing? It seems near to impossible to me. But then again, there are some days when I can barely crawl my way out of bed.
There are times when the dom/sub, master/slave, caretaker/caretook dynamic of fiction is really appealing to me. Because for sure, I cannot take care of myself. I’m not being facetious or anything. I literally have doubts about my ability to care for myself. And that’s frightening.
I’m tired of being scared. I would like to live a somewhat normal life. Where there’s always food in the fridge and clothes to wear. Maybe a strong partner that can handle home repairs as easily as they succeed at their career.
I hate the anxieties that eat away at me. From the things I cannot handle (house, car, boat, life) on my own to what direction I’m supposed to be moving in. The future seems so uncertain. And I know there are some days when I won’t leave my house.
It’s weird. To be so comfortable in the box that I can’t get myself to leave it. Though sometimes it’s not so comfortable, yet I’d rather endure some self-imposed hardship than go to the store. Because I hate that people look at me (chest, butt, face, teeth) and try to force-meet my eyes. And I hate that sometimes I relish their gazes (commanding the room) and other times I want to cringe away (stop staring at me! I belong to myself).
And in all that confusion — where I find myself running calculations on notebook paper just to experience some semblance of control — it’s easy to lose track of time.
Unless I can find someone to manage me, I despair of ever having a lucrative freelance career.
I’m just too terrified to reach out for that golden opportunity. And those times when I feel brave enough to take on the whole world… I’m manic and should not be trusted with anyone’s heart.
