Day 18,983

Hello everyone
     I know it's been a long time, but with rising rent, strange letters to my landlord popping through my letterbox from different banks and a constant supply of bills, I've had to take on another job.
     I'm sure there is something wrong. The letters are marked as confidential and to be opened immediately, they look very official. So I have to take them to the estate agent and let them deal with them. I am now worried in case the landlord decides to sell the flat or something else happens which forces me out.
      The new job is only part time, just two hours a night five nights a week, which means I usually go straight from my fulltime one onto the new one, which means I'm working 60 plus hours a week again and still only just scraping by and leaves very little time for writing. I start work at eight in the morning and finish at eight or nine in the evening and by then I'm knackered.
     I do manage to write a little at weekends, but again only in the evening after six when I finish my day job and as I work seven days a week, it doesn't leave much time.
I re-read some of my novel the other day and must admit, it's lame; a bit too tame. First mistake. I was so eager to get it out into the world when I'd finished it, that I ignored a basic rule, when it's done put it away for a good few months and ignore it before taking it out and re-reading it.
      I'm not surprised it was rejected; it does read well and there were no mistakes but it just needs a damn good kick up the arse. So for now I'm giving up on the novels and turning my attention to short stories for competitions, with feedback.
     The title of this piece may seem a little odd, but give or take a few leap years 18,983 days, is roughly how long I've been alive and barring a handful, most of them have been crap and they're still not getting any better. It doesn't seem to matter how long or hard I work, or what I do, nothing ever changes.
     I'm working myself to death at the moment, not only to pay bills, rent, etc, but to try and save enough for a deposit on a two bed place. My poor son is still sleeping on the floor, he isn't working due to his bad feet and has no money. He needs his own room, a place to call his own and by whatever means, I will supply it.
      As for me, I'm still breathing and still writing, whenever I get the chance. I hope everyone is having a more productive time, good luck with all your writing projects, until next time; all we can do is keep going.