New phone. Who dis?

I have someone bugging me. Two voices really. They’re going at it. One’s on a budgie and the other acts like money just appears outta thin air. I’m getting sick of these two going back and forth. I’d like to tell them both to get lost. To leave me alone. But I can’t because both of them are me. So let’s hear them out.

πŸ’πŸ»β€β™€οΈ: You need a job. It’s officially your third week in Brooklyn. You’ve been told that jobs are here for the taking. And with your resume, you shouldn’t have trouble finding work. Maybe you’re not working hard enough. And maybe you don’t fear being poor because you’ve had a kush existence. You’re a princess and you know it. But ain’t no prince gonna come save you this time. You’ll end up going home with your tail between your legs and broke, but this time for real.

πŸ’πŸ»β€β™€οΈ: You’ve been poor. It’s not as though you haven’t gone without. You’re just nesting. It’s gonna come together. You moved across a continent. Nothing here is the same. The weather’s about as reliable as Bumble. The fire engines sound different. Water doesn’t even boil at the same time. Give yourself some credit. You made it this far. Trust yourself to take you all the way.

πŸ’πŸ»β€β™€οΈ: Yeah you’ve been broke. But that was when you were 20. Not 39 going on 40. The part of you that’s creating a bedroom fit for a queen is trying to fix a fixable problem because your brain doesn’t want to deal with the possibly unfixable problem of not having income. What good is a bed if you can’t afford the rent? What if you don’t have what it takes? What if this was all a mistake? What are you going to do? No, really! What?

πŸ’πŸ»β€β™€οΈ: Boo, you got this. Week one was all about the broken tooth and the flu. Week two was about questioning your faith. Three flights of stairs you gotta climb every time you wanna go home. To an empty apartment where you’re sleeping on half a couch. Every time you’ve climbed those stairs, you have paused. Paused to breathe, paused to cough, paused to question, paused to doubt.

Until tonight. Day 17. When you were wearing sneakers instead of Birks. Birks got you through Tucson, where the ground was soft and so were you. They didn’t help you up those stairs. But then tonight, you were wearing shoes with a bit of give. Exactly what you need when the world itself is hard and you need to be a bit harder. Not once did you stop. Before you knew it, you made it up all three flights. This world may not yield to your liking, but you’re gonna find a solution. Because it’s what you’ve done every single time you’ve come across a problem before. Get hard.

The world has already counted you out. You’re a woman. A Mexican. An autistic. A dyslexic. A survivor of abuse and violence. A person living with bipolar disorder…a heart murmur…chronic anemia…asthma. And on and on. You have no business being where you have gotten. But here you are. And you’re not alone.

The tarot card said this city would teach you discipline. Be the best student you can be. You left peace and quiet and certitude for adventure and inspiration. Learn the lesson. Get what you need. No, scratch that, get everything you ever dreamed of.

πŸ’πŸ»β€β™€οΈ: But…

πŸ’πŸ»β€β™€οΈ: Nah. No buts. You’re pot committed. Read the cards. The odds are in your favor. You just need a bit of discipline is all.

πŸ’πŸ»β€β™€οΈ: I guess.

πŸ’πŸ»β€β™€οΈ: You guessed right. It’s all about taking a chance and seeing it through to its conclusion.

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