I can't quit my job. I can't afford it. Life would spiral into abject poverty which brings it's own significant set of misery. So on I go, trudging through the days, hope dying out. Nearly 35. Life is not what I hoped it may turn out to be. Pain is desire; Desire for a life that can't be led. Can I kill hope? Do I burn my art supplies and throw all material and thread onto the bonfire? Is that how to get through? Do I smother any lingering flicker of a dream of something more? Will that make broken dreams less painful? Is that what liquor and cable tv is for? Just give up? I don't know how to keep drudging through the days while holding on to a measly scrap of an ideal that just keeps getting more filthy and disintegrated. What is there to even blog about when I'm just a shell of human, crawling through calender squares, silencing hopes that can't come to life? All rhetorical questions of course. Life.