It’s 2 AM.
The bar’s almost dead.
I’m sitting on a cracked leather stool with a beer that’s gone warm and a cigarette burning slow between my fingers. The ashtray’s full. My head’s full. My chest is heavier than the fucking smoke.
This is where the real shit comes out.
No nice lighting.
No filter.
No pretending I’ve got it all figured out.
My name is Job.
I’ve lost almost everything a man can lose.
Family. Money. Health. Dignity. Direction. Career
I’ve been betrayed by people I trusted with my life.
I’ve had clients take my work and disappear with my livelihood.
I’ve had strokes and nervous system breakdowns and still woke up the next day wondering why the hell I’m still breathing.
I’ve screamed at God.
I’ve sat in silence waiting for an answer that never came.
I’ve borrowed my faith secondhand from a man who went through worse and still refused to stay broken.
And yet… here I am.
Still smoking.
Still drinking this warm beer.
Still writing.
Still Building.
Even when building feels like bleeding.
This page — I Am Job Uncut — is where I stop performing.
This is the raw, late-night, unfiltered version of me.
The anger. The dark humor. The dirty thoughts. The moments I want to give up. The stubborn fucking decision to keep going anyway. Something like a spaceship pilot all alone in a very big dark atmosphere and wanting to get home and has no idee how this is going to work out or where his going to, the only guarantee he has is its going to hurt but he doesn’t know where or how yet.
If you’re also sitting in the ashes at 2 AM out of touch wondering how the hell you’re supposed to keep going… pull up a stool, brother or sister.
You’re not alone.
My name is Job.
What’s your name?
And what season are you in right now?
Let’s talk.
No bullshit.
Just truth.
Still Building.
If I Am Job, has brought any support or at least some laughter to you today, please consider buying me a coffee I kind of desperately need that coffee at: paypal.me/VanDerMerwe7
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