If we were having coffee… I’d tell you that Life is the utmost asshole. Of course, I don’t have a monopoly on this sentiment and you’d likely nod in understanding. Only, you’d do so without understanding the specific context in which I cry out against Life with shaking fists. I feel beat. I’ve felt beat for some time. I’ve finally been beaten.
I read a lot of about vulnerability in writing, and I hear a lot about being vulnerable with friends and coworkers. This idea of purposefully exposing myself to criticism as a method of success and growth leaves me stumped.
The pennies are adding up, albeit very slowly. When your coping mechanism to stress is to spend for the sake of spending — that psychological trigger for instant gratification — a self-imposed austerity can be difficult. But keeping the end in mind (living cost, debt payments, etc.), I somehow make it work with the occasional “treat yo self” awards, even if it’s a $0.99 bag of chips.
Author note: I started experimenting with short prose, micro prose, whatever you want to call them, on Twitter. It’s a play on my interest in, and recent binging of travelogues, and my curiosity of what it would be like if I wrote mini-travelogues about the city I live in. And here on out, I introduce to you: Scenes I’ve Seen. (Though sometimes, it may be other senses.) If you enjoy these stories, let me know
In a previous post, I wrote about my resolution for the new year: budgeting and writing. It’s a two birds, one stone kind of situation that I’m hoping will make both things more interesting… at least for myself, if not for my readers who may find the whole affair a terrible slog to get through, or a tragicomedy of the best kind. We’ll see. I was debating on what to call this journal of sorts.