What’s worth it? How much is my time worth? Is it worthless? No rest for the wicked. Wear weary quite contreary. Love? Like? Necessary? Time. Time. Time. I want to quit my jobs. So I can write. Say it out loud and I just sound absurd. I just want to act. Tell stories. And get paid to do it. Fuck. The runaround and the fucking people I don’t want to deal with. And oy the budget. The fucking budget. Maybe I can get by if I just sell all my belongings.