My eyes are getting ready to write placards decrying the inhumane treatment they have been forced to endure at my…eyeballs. It’s 2 in the morning, and I am awake, doing my job…blogging. Ha, no. I just sent in something that was due a while back. Lately, my life seems to be full of those.

I quit my job a few months ago. I missed my bed greatly. I wanted to be able to pick and choose days to go to work and days to not go. I wanted freedom. Versatility. FREEDOM.

My friend told me I am a spoilt brat for quitting. That all ADULTS do is things they do not like long enough to get to the point that they can do things that they do like. I was irritated at her perspective, mostly because, a, I am not an adult (ignore my rent moans and existence of the word job in this post), and b, the world is bleak enough already without your friends telling you what you can, can’t, shouldn’t be doing, neh? I ignored the (disillusioned and slightly) and enjoyed the rest of her company.

I’ve stuffed my face with more cake than I have eaten this whole year. There’s stomach in my cake. My day was such a whirlwind of guests and work, there was no time for proper food. White forest cake, made with grapes and strawberries and cream that melts in your mouth like a compliant candy cane. In case you were wondering.

It’s scary to quit. It’s scary to freelance and have your dad ask you when you’re going to get a real job. It’s uncertain, and tormentous, and the irony is that I am doing more work than I have ever done before in my life. And I keep on taking more, because I am hungry. And I am foolish. And maybe, because I have never challenged myself before; because I have never bothered to push myself to stop being lazy, and see how much I can do (and buy a car. I really want a car)- I was always the kid being told I have so much potential- maybe it’s worth it. Maybe I can choose what I want to do (quite frankly, who wants to do what they hate? And who says you have to? You don’t have to do anything except stay black and die, unless you’re MJ or JC), and do a lot of it, until I burn out or get rich – get rich or blog trying. Maybe I don’t have to choose. Maybe it chose me.

It’s nearly 3 and my eyes are now resigned to their fate. But I figure…I have to stay up. My hungry foolish eyes have so much left to see that I haven’t seen. There’s way too much living to be done.

tSN