I’m sneezing.

Well, that’s it. I’m broke.

Not quite destitute yet, but soon. My only option at this point is to sell my car. My mother is willing to offer her services to sell the beast, but she’ll need it in Rockford and I’ll have to clean it all off first. Plus I’ve lent it to a good friend and I hate to deprive her of it. Then again, we both knew the agreement was temporary. I’ll just give her plenty of notice.

I’m not sure, but if it sells I may still be able to afford Christmas for Bastian and all the people I care to include this year.

ALSO (this is big news) I have an interview with the Rockford Convention and Visitors Bureau for an internship position next semester. It doesn’t pay (like at all) but it’s GREAT experience and it would look fantabulous on a resume. I can get TANF (Temporary Assistance for Needy Families) if I make less than 300 dollars a month (which I do, HEY!) and we’ll still live. That would actually be pretty damn awesome. WISH ME LUCK!

Okay, so it’s late and I’m realizing once again how long it’s been since I had a good tumble. It really does get easier the longer you go without. I was going to say it was unfortunate, but I guess it’s actually better that I don’t have any sexual prospects around here. Ideally, I’d like to “save” what’s left of myself (ha, ha) for whoever I eventually end up being serious with. My problem is that I am great at restraining myself until there’s actually a good chance at success. If I’m attracted to someone, and they to me -I’m in trouble. Good thing I’ve become so unappealing in my quarter of a century. Feh, that’s not true and I know it.

I do have white hairs suddenly. It’s interesting, I’ve always wanted a witch’s lock and now I’m plucking the damn things from my crown every month.

So let’s all hope that I don’t find someone physically appealing anytime soon. Unless they happen to also be my soulmate. Damn, maybe I should just trash this whole celibacy thing and screw around until I’m settled into a career. Then I can find a mate and I won’t have to worry about the dangers of switching socio-economic positions or moving to new locales. Cosmopolitan magazine says you aren’t a slut if you can remember the number and at least first names of everyone you’ve slept with. So by that account, I’m not a slut. I’ve got a pretty good memory, though. Is it cheating if you write down the list? Hmmm…

Here’s to the babes on “Sex and the City”. May we all be so active and carry our hopes when we’re 30 ad single. God I hope I’m not still single at 30. Ugh. Why am I always the Samantha?


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