Money talks

I've tried to hone my budget management skills. I've gone through my bank accounts; attempting to figure out what's coming in (not a lot) and what's going out (a lot more) and how I could make those two more compatible (I can't.)

Here's what I realized. As long as I don't go anywhere, do anything or see anyone I should be fine. And I suppose I could stop eating as well- seeing how I can't really afford that one either and that is a diet that seems to be working so well for those Sudanese. I do only have a week to get into bikini shape after all...

I'm destitute. Without a job to steal my toilet paper and coffee from. Things have never, ever been this bad. I don't have any money to try and change my fortunes in the stock market so my only option is organ black market. Though I'm not sure my smoker's lungs, drinker's liver or already broken heart are in such high demand...

The only way I've survived this long is through the generosity of my friends. I owe money left and right. Probably even to Russian Mafia. And until I do find a job, there's no getting out of this hole. Oh well, who needs kneecaps anyway. And I suppose eventually the Russians will force me into prostitution so that's my debt AND my dry spell sorted.

Luckily my brother is visiting and cheering me up. Which was (finally) the excuse I needed to do something about the chaotic mess that is my flat. It genuinely looked worse than the Gaza strip. The thing is, the longer you spend cooped up alone in your flat, hiding from the world, wallowing in your worries... the higher the threshold becomes to actually leave. Literally- courtesy of all those empty pizza boxes and unopened bills blocking the door. 

He used to be the family charity case. Now he's studying at university and has a job. Bar tending in a gay bar, no less. Which means that I, the oldest one that everyone is supposed to be able to look up to... am the loser in the family. 

This is not how I planned my life to pan out- down the pan...