Let me preface this with - one of my main goals in life is to get a novel published still.

But I've got a degree in wildlife biology. I did it because biology and chemistry come easy for me, but I genuinely dislike the field for the most part. I didn't even want to go to college, but my parents were sure I'd end up in a gutter if I didn't. So, I went. Now I'm glad I did, because I am a completely different man walking out of there than I was walking in there, and to me, that's damn fine progress. But the wildlife biology field isn't exactly booming right now. Everyone thinks, "oh shit, science. I love that shit. You probably beat jobs away with a stick, working in Antarctica with goddamn penguins and stuff." Which is very much not the case. The jobs that are out there are almost always temporary, and only for one season. Low pay, high mental strain, roughly thirty in-state applications and fifteen out-of-state ones that you have to compete with to make $15 an hour with three years experience, and most of the people treat every interaction like some sort of dick-measuring contest. When I got my degree, I kept telling myself that I wouldn't be like them. I would use it as a fallback, you know, just to keep people off my back - and keep writing.

But I've got other aspirations, too. I want a loving wife, maybe a kid or two, a dog. A nicer house, with a bit of land on it. A woodshop in the garage. Enough money that I didn't have anxiety attacks when I checked my mail.

Life hit me in the nose. I was recently in a situation that required me to have to move out of my apartment. I had about two weeks to move all my stuff out, but I couldn't find a new place. I was barely scraping by already, and now I was going to have to pay double at the places I was applying for. I also had student loans piling up interest. My family isn't poor, but we're probably on the very bottom of the "middle" class - I never got anything new, all of my friends always had nicer things than I did. We didn't really get to go on vacations. It's really up to me, and that realization hit me like fucking Mike Tyson. My depression/anxiety got to an all-time high. I didn't like the person I had become. I was bitter, I was ready to argue about anything. I was playing devil's advocate just to start shit with anyone around. I drank by myself, in secret. I smoked by myself, in secret. I didn't want to be around anyone. I didn't want to write. I wanted to fight, all damn day.

I met a girl that I really like soon after. She let me put all of my stuff in her tiny one-bedroom apartment and live at her place while I looked for a new apartment. We had only been dating for about three weeks at that point. Saintly, that one is. I was sitting on her couch while she was heading from school to work (she puts in 14 hour days, every damn day, between the two) and I realized that I want to be able to do fun things with her. And I couldn't do that being a sadsack. And if she could do it, I didn't have any excuse. Hell, I want to be able to do fun things period. And you can't do that as often when you're broke as hell. So, I started getting serious about my degree. I found my own apartment (which sucks away literally all of my first paycheck of the month, but at least it's mine), I stuck at this job for the experience, and now I'm applying for better paying ones. I'm going to go see someone about my anxiety. Basically, I realized that life isn't fair, you're going to have to crawl through some shit on a pretty regular basis, but that isn't an excuse to tuck your tail. So I'm not currently the next big thing in science fiction. Big fucking whoop.

A lot of people seem to think at first that you have to absolutely dedicate yourself to an art in order to be serious about it. In my opinion, art is what you get out of it. I still write, and I will still keep sending out query letters. But I'm also going to go to my nine-to-five. Might take longer, might make me tired all the time, might frustrate the hell out of me - but I figure that if I still enjoy writing, I'm getting what I need out of it. And even if I don't get published, meh. I don't consider that a failure anymore. It's still a goal of mine, but I don't write to impress anyone. I do it for myself. Something inside me demands that I do, so I do. And I enjoy it. And I've learned that as long as I've got that, I can deal with a shitty job. Life is what you make it. I don't need other people telling me that I'm an official writer. The fact that I consider myself as one is all the damn proof I need.

This was very stream of conscious, forgive me. I'm currently looking at job postings while watching DBZ: Battle of the Gods on my couch. A real multitasker, I know.