silasnoir

[silasnoir]

So, the "you're no longer welcome here" convo happened today. Okay, not verbatim—but the vibe? Chef’s kiss crystal clear. Between the polite eyerolls and the accidental slamming of doors, I decoded the message: GET OUT. Ah the ups the downs of a struggling writer.

Life’s been a full-on gourmet buffet of crap ever since I decided to follow my dream. One shitstorm after another, with no umbrellas in sight. And here I am, clutching my big, delusional dreams like they’re worth sleeping on a park bench for. Spoiler: they're starting to feel not worth it.

Can someone PLEASE remind me why I chose passion over a stable paycheck? Because this “romantic starving artist” vibe isn’t even cute anymore. I’m starving. I’m broke. And I’ve got exactly $4.32 to my name, which means the struggle meal tonight is air with a side of regret and a bottomless cup of hopeful tears.

Universe? Just one break. A crumb. Anything. Or at least someone to Venmo me for coffee so I can cry in public like a proper struggling writer.