Towel -5minutefreewrite

For https://steemit.com/freewrite/@mariannewest/day-300-5-minute-freewrite-wednesday-prompt-towel
"Throw in the towel," commented my mother, as she watched me struggle, yet again, to make ends meet with my stick figure drawings.

"No, mom, this is my passion. I'm going to do this for the rest of my life, even if it kills me." I protested back to her. Secretly, I wondered if I could keep going. Yes, drawing stick figures was my passion, but if my passion had been flying planes, and I had not yet been able to fly a plane because no one would let me, would I keep trying?

Part of me said, "yes, that's a thing that happens" and another said, "No, it's because your passion is art, and art is stupid that you think it's ok to keep on failing. If you had one ounce of practicality..." this part of me sounded a lot like my mother, though she had never used those words.

I extricated myself from lunch with mom like a starfish extricates a clam from its shell: painfully, and with silent sliminess. I didn't love not liking lunch with my mom, but it was better than the alternative, liking lunch with mom. Mom, whose upper middle class sense of entitlement clashed with her homespun practicality, and led her to wonder why in the world her little baby girl couldn't make it in the big city.

I walked along the sidewalk, admiring the chalk drawings children had made. Seeing more love of drawing than in a thousand James Thurbers, no offense intended. It was my passion as a child that had led me down this lonely path.

Then I saw it. Abandoned sidewalk chalk. It was like a sign or something. So beneath the no parking sign and beside the For Rent: a considerable amount of money for an inconsiderable amount of space, I drew my stick figures...