Scraping

I find myself in a uniquely shitty position. Well, unique thus far to my life; not so unique to a lot of Americans. This position to which I refer, is that of being uninsured, and just financially scraping by and wondering for how much longer I can make ends meet.

I guess my situation is a bit different than that of many impoverished Americans. I don't have kids to worry about, and I could probably find another job. The problem is I don't know if I'll be able to find something that I don't hate. Because I actually somewhat enjoy serving. I enjoy the job itself, and the people with whom I work. Not so much the pittance tips, or the demanding, awful people I sometimes have to serve. But overall, I like it. And I like the relative schedule flexibility that comes along with it. I guess I haven't had a 9-5 job in so long, the thought of one is absolutely dreadful.

But this just isn't working out.

I hate to leave Carrabbas after all of the time I have put into it, but I don't know what else to do. Unless things miraculously pick up in the next couple of weeks, I'm going to have to abandon ship. I think the restaurant business is going to take a rather hefty hit, even more so that it has been over the last year. When money is tight, eating out is one of the first things people quit doing.

I'm so confused about what to do with my life currently.

I don't know what I want to be anymore.

I know what I love to do, but I don't know how I could possibly make any money doing it.

Writing is like acting. Ridiculous, and impractical.

I believe my magazine partner had a reality check, and consequentially a rather devastating mental crash. He lost all faith that we can make this happen financially.

I can't do it without him. Thus, I can't do it.

In summation, I don't know what to do with my life anymore.