No More Pity Party

Okay, enough with the pity party. I'm bored of myself. Bored of it. So today I decided to be thankful for the #^*$ I've had to go through for the last five years. I'm going to think about something good that came from every bad job. Every humiliating experience. Besides material. I have lots of material. I could write until I'm seventy at this rate. And that's another thing I'm going to do. I'm going to go for broke. Really. Broker than I am. For my 38th birthday I'm going to give myself a gift. And abide by it. I'm going to do nothing but focus on my t-shirts and write for 38 days. Which will probably mean tortilla soup. And cheap wine. And lots of nights in. But I'm in all the time anyway. There are bonuses to being in. I don't 'have to look cute. And as for not eating, I could stand to lose a few pounds. I was anorexic once, what's one more time? Men like skinny girls anyway, right? Maybe I'll find a guy in the bargain. One who wants to feed me for a change. I want to write a pilot. And a screenplay. I want to submit stories. I want to take care of myself. I want to make things happen. For me. So I'll sell some more things I own and take the help that was offered to me from some of my very good friends. And I'm going to be grateful that they believe in me. And that they want to see me succeed. And I'm going to cry if I have to because I'm scared. But I won't spends hours scouring job sites and sending cover letters and resumes because I'm scared. I won't beat myself up for my mistakes and for not buying a house when I could. Instead, I'll spend that time writing. And if I succeed, that will be wonderful and if I fail, I'll kind of be in the same place anyway, right? But at least I'll have given it a shot. And I won't hate going to work. Or hate my life. Or hate how I'm treated. And hate myself for allowing it all. So that's it. That's the plan. And even if my actual birthday isn't until March 29th, I say happy birthday to me.