the summer weather can become suffocating. the sun never sets, the heat, humidity and continuous brightness makes this neighbourhood shine with a stale stench of smothering.

i quit my job in the best decision ever made. bank account balance is at the negative, but no more job instability, harassment by one manager, deception and annoying repetition. back to square one.

i tell my nagging ego that i'll find one before september. the job market for writers is few and ruthless, if even, nonexistent. there are more times when i find myself counting every penny and realizing the loss of money as a tremendous sadness. since when did money become such a source of grief?

feeling bleak. it's being not ready to move on, or desiring to, and laying in one ambiguous cesspool of uncertainty. ambiguity is cowardice, so says my mother, and uncertainty over a passion you desire more than anything will make one depressed.

signs are calling for giving it up, a compromise, a renegotiation with my ego to accept something less, something without.