Sulking on a Sunday

 Job hunting is an anxious ordeal. 

God gave me 4 months with 3 sources of income to let me feel how it is to earn more than 50k in a month. Didn't get too fully enjoy these incentives as enrollment season was in bloom and Dylan was in Manila for her OJT so all the extra dough was set for the paternal obligations. But it didn't hurt that I can order Popeye's anytime I want even buy shoes without too much double-thinking.

Still thankful. 

But deadline is looming in. 

My stint in Wonder Collab is a blessimg that I worry that they will finally discover I am a dispensable commodity. 

That book editing job — I worry about my status. Haven't received my salary. And they didn't give me anything to edit this July. Had a few major mistakes last June. But is it even humane for a company to "ghost" an employee?

I feel used. 

And tired. 

And for validation, I checked my Spotify Artist profile. Only 700+ streams for Stockholm in a week. Am I so unlistenable? Don't want to be a Van Gogh.

I hope to come back to this space brimming with confidence. 

Until then. 

Sulk.

3rd breakdown

 I can't even write. 

But I am back here 'cause all I have is a weeping prayer and my anonymity. 

I feel alone. So alone. 

I feel like what I am releasing is the last one. 

I am at my ugliest. My fattest. My impostor syndrome is acting up — I feel like I am faking everything, even my talent. 

It gets tiring. 

This is 2nd breakdown of the night. 

Finally I am not crying much about money but as I have said in my conversation with God a few minutes ago: give me the power to inspire. I am so insecure I am giving out negative energy. I am always on the defense and I hate that. 

I am now in the position to inspire.

Help me Lord. 

I want to die with dignity. I want my children to hear stories of me being the good guy for once. 

I am tired. I am dying. 

I fake it so well, but my spirit is dead. 

I wish I have somebody to just comfort me. It has been a while since I had someone who'll cry with me and understand this burden. 

Now the 3rd.

3 days to 43

 So here it comes again. 

Writing about the blues.

The impostor syndrome of being a songwriter. 

The feeling of losing a family. 

The feeling of failing as a father. 

I should be thankful.

I am now part of the music industry, but in a different level or position.

Dylan is here so I am given a chance to be the fun parent. 

Lord, help me see the light.

Help me find purpose. 

Help me find someone to convince me I deserve to be loved.

Xxx

 Writing direct over here. I rarely do this. 

Need to unplug my mind and let it leak all over this page. 

I am weeping hard with no reason. 

Guess i am tired of it all.

I should be happy. 

I just wrote a song. I submitted an edited manuscript. I still have 2 thousand in my account. Salary from the raket is coming in soon. Had a phonecall with dylan where ai was teasing her of possible accomodation finds for her OJT.

Aside from my 3 males cats squabbling a few mins ago, everything is still. Everything is quiet. 

That must be it. No purpose. Just waiting forthe weekend so I can play music and get drunk. 

I feel so unloved and alone.