Well, I’ve moved out.
Poverty could make you take the plunge into the unknown, the unfamiliar, the abyss, the gaping maw, the… enough of this.
Economic forecasters have predicted continued price hike of basic commodities in the coming days, owing to the per barrel price of the liquid gold that is petrol, the legacy of the dinosaurs and the giant ferns of the Mezosoic era, which is hitting nearly $200 at the time of writing.
So, yeah, I’ve moved out of my comfort zone and am presently resigned to the fact that I am stuck in this j-o-b.
Would it be a happy pill for anyone if I share the news I’ve read last week that has a grim outlook for my generation? That, because of the worldwide economic bad hair day, people my age are the first of the generation that would not be earning more than my parents when they were my age? That we’d be lucky enough to land jobs, no matter how unsatisfying or no matter how crappy the terms of employment are?
I feel the prediction looming ominously in the horizon.
I can definitely feel the crush. All around me I see ads for jobs but no one’s getting hired. Five years’ experience required. Referrals from previous employers, employee background check. Even fast food joints won’t hire anybody who has no college education. And others spend years getting their M.A.s and Ph.D.s, hoping that the higher the degree they’ve attained, the better the job offers are.
Ok, that’s over.
I guess I’m delirious.
The truth is, I’m broke. And payday is days and days away. I shall, in the new room that I am renting out, subsist on instant noodles, soda crackers, and tepid water.
That’s it. I’m not expending more energy on this rant. It makes me hungrier.