Work is destroying me.

And not writing, writing is just fine.

I’ve kind of hit a wall with piercing. This has happened before, and I’ve always bounced back ok, but this time feels different. I’m not sure that this is a passion is gone kind of thing, my passion for modification has been long dead, but I’ve always enjoyed being a gatekeeper for others entering a world of being poked full of holes.

That bit of passion, may just be eking out of me.

Part of it’s a money thing, I’ve been at this for a month shy of fifteen years, and money is still an issue. That’s stupid. Like really stupid.

The big part though is the reward factor. The stupidity of some of my customers, the perverseness of others, it can all just be a bit much.

I’m kind of at an impasse. What does a published author with no college, who is covered in tattoos do for work?

Ugh.

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