I left my old job for a new job that was supposed to be more fulfilling and interesting but it turned out to be very physical and hell on my chronically-ill body so I had to quit.
I could say I wish I hadn't accepted the job when it was offered to me on the spot, I wish I had been more picky, I wish I had done a million and one things differently. But the thing is... I don't.
Lots of things in my life haven't exactly gone the best possible way, and after many things that were entirely my fault and could have been easily avoided that still haunt me to this day, it's easy for my anxiety and my post-traumatic response to wish I could go back in time and change it. Not do the thing. Not say the thing. But they all end in a simple three-word phrase: "Now I know." Now I know not to lie about stupid shit. Now I know to ask for help when I need it. Now I know that I can't work on my feet anymore.
The problem, though, is that I actually hate being unemployed.
When I have nothing to do, nothing to get out of bed for, I usually just... don't. And it makes every day the same. Everything blurs together, and I can only learn so many hobbies to the point of difficulty where I give up before I have nothing left and I'm standing in the middle of this endless plateau with no end in sight.
I keep feeling like I'm on the verge of creating something. Something good. Something big. But my muses are nowhere to be found when I need them the most.