Would it seem strange if I confess that I loathe money? I loathe how it defines us, how we need it, how others need it and I don’t always have enough to give, how it must be counted and paid in and paid out. How thirty dollars a month to save a child from poverty, or cure a disease seems so little and at the same time seems so much.
I want to see my name in print because I want to be successful; money to me does not equal success. It is the accomplishments that matter. I want to be successful as a writer. I want to see my screenplays on the big screen. I want to have my novels published, but even more than all this... I want the missing pieces of my heart. I want my daughters.
I’ve seriously consider asking for family for help, but I know myself too well. If they said “No” I would take it more than a rejection. It would cut me to the core and leave a splinter in my heart, not just for myself but also for our daughter and that would not be a great way to start off the relationship. If they said “Yes” I’d be happy but I’d have to swallow my pride, and I would always feel that debt looming over my head, until I paid it off one way or another.There are things money can’t buy, and those are the things I cherish the most. Watching Cyrus run as he plays tag with the ocean waves. Preston laughing as he tries to tell us he isn’t enjoying himself (but really he is.) Alex gathering building up a fire so we can roast marsh mellows at the end of the day. Even taking the dog for a walk with Dale, or seeing a redheaded woodpecker together. I think I would be as Jane Bennet if I had more money than I knew what to do with. Generous to fault