Hunger Is Boring

I woke up this morning under one of the desks in my bedroom, wondering why I was not in bed and where the last ten dollars in my bank account had gone. It was not much, but when that is the difference between eating and not eating, it is everything.

Last night was surreal and boring at the exact same time. For a while, I actually felt like painting instead of disappearing into my tablet. I got more work done on the weird underwater painting I have been avoiding for months. I even started painting one of the white thigh-high boots I bought specifically to work on. That part felt good. It felt like I was moving again.

Then the night turned frightening and overwhelming. I found a fresh stain on my mattress after I had finally started cleaning earlier in the day, and I lost my temper. Starting a cleaning project can already be hard when I am not feeling well. Having it feel undone before I have even caught my breath can make the whole world feel hostile.

I do not remember much after that. I remember feeling scared, angry, and exhausted. I remember yelling for help and feeling like no one was listening. By morning I was trying to reconstruct the night while looking at a bank balance that had somehow gotten even smaller.

The rest of the day went into trying to secure my sites and make sense of my numbers. It is frustrating to feel like every small task becomes ten tasks, only to land somewhere less than acceptable. I am tired of scrambling to protect the work I make while worrying about how I am going to eat.

That is the part I keep coming back to. I am bored with being poor and hungry while people with more comfort get to benefit from the labor of people who are already struggling. I want the fruits of my own work too. I want a little room to make art, finish the underwater painting, paint the other boot, and keep building something that is mine.

For now, that is the practical part of hope. Keep making the thing. Keep learning. Keep figuring out how to tie the shoelaces, even when someone else has spent their whole life expecting somebody to do it for them. The world may be soggy and strange, but I am still here, and I am still making work.