I got my last big paycheck from the college today. An old dread crept into my belly. How am I going to scrape by? This is a familiar fear ever since I quit real jobs. Oh, I'm so not better off than my Jurassic Boomer cohort. I worked and quit many times and so didn't earn a lot over my lifetime (or rather, built and spent some fortunes). I'm so much better off than Gen X folks, with nothing saved, or actually in debt. The thought of a limited income does not sit well with me, nor does spending what I've saved.
The future, always stating from grim and working up to optimistic, may work to my advantage if the world ends before my money does. That's a piss poor attitude, and contrary to my workadaddy nature. Or now workagramps. I got all my metal cast this past weekend.
I can't not stop making things. Especially metal things.
I need money I don't have for that. I need someone to pay me to make my things.
It is not enough to make just one thing, because I always have a postpartum depression after getting done. It is the process. The cycle from imagination to reality.
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