So what I really want to do is write, right? I want to tear open a hole in the garment that holds this thing called the economy together (is it a girdle? A pair of slacks?) and make room for my existence. Make possibility for my existence. Pay for me, that is.
I'd like to come into some cash so that I can get out from underneath these bills that I've amassed through being sick and so on. I've got a terrible eating regimen that costs too much and doesn't give me the nutrition that a healthy me seeks. So I think I will turn to growing my own food.
I already have oranges-- right now-- that I can eat. And I just planted an artichoke plant today. Soon I will add other vegetables to the garden, and an assortment of vines to replace the front yard lawn. Blueberries, raspberries, boysenberries, and different grape varietals as well. I'll plant squash and carrots and beets. Asparagus and... mushrooms? Can I do that?
I guess I'll become a vegetarian. I'll plant tofu.
All kidding aside, I do need to continue to monitor and adjust my lifestyle so that I am more in line with nature and health. I do not need to eat at the likes of Taco Bell, Weinerschnitzel, and Jack in the Box all in the same day. I really don't need to eat that crap at all. But I'll adjust instead of deny, cold turkey. (Mmm, turkey...)
So I'll be the constant gardener, even though I haven't seen the film (or even read the screenplay). My yard work will produce nourishment for me and my family and friends, and the neighborhood. I will be creating wealth with my produce.
So do I have to sell it so I can be a writer?
I don't think I want to be a writer "full-time" anyway. I think it would drive me nuts. Maybe that's just me resisting work-- something I can do. I know how to procrastinate.
There's a way for me to make a living and still be true to my soul without selling out to the highest bidder. There's just gotta be. I believe it. I want it. I'm going for it. It has to be there.
It will all work out somehow.