Circles

I am very fortunate to have my job.  I know this, and I am thankful for it.  Most people would kill to get something with nice coworkers, a high salary (for a student), and a reasonable workload.

That said, it’s killing my soul.  Many days I come home fighting both a headache and nausea.  I’m exhausted by seven p.m. or even earlier, making writing almost impossible.  I can’t leave, because I know there’s nothing better out there and I need the money.  Which brings up an interesting point – what do I need the money for?  I still live with my parents.  My expenses are few and manageable.  I’ve always been the sort of person who begrudges spending even an extra nickel.  I need to save, I tell myself.  What am I saving for?

The fact of the matter is, I don’t know.  When I was a child, I was saving to buy turtles (don’t ask, it was just a dream of mine).  Then I wanted to self-publish and figured I would blow it on that.  Now I think maybe I’ll use it on a house someday.  But in my experience, whenever I spend any money at all, I immediately regret it.  I’ll want something so badly – a book, say – and as soon as the money has left my hands, the high of spending it withers and I’m left feeling like a failure.  Did I have anything better to do with it?  Probably not.  All the same, I know that I should have saved.

So I insist on working full time during the summer, and I even worked thirty hours a week last semester on top of a full course load.  But I’m starting to wonder, as the summer looms out endlessly before me: what am I doing this for?

Basically, I’m a wimp.