Odd summer. I woke up to leaden skies and a chill in the air. Ominous signs of rains later. This is going to be a slow day.
I found out we ran out of instant coffee when, bleary eyed, I went to the kitchen to fix myself a cup. The coffee canister sat empty and quiet, with only a smudge of the aromatic powder stuck on its side. We’re running low on sugar, too. Ah, the joys of being unemployed. Being broke is like a constant refrain of an old cheesy song. Leave job, no food in fridge, bills go unpaid, and eventually, loved ones leave.
I hope this mendicancy is just temporary. I won’t be going to Manila until after the Holy Week. Planning on spending Easter roasting fish and getting sloshed on five-year-old rum with the people I love in my tropical jungle refuge.
I took sidelines again, hoping that what I’d earn from them will help tide us over the lean days. Might also read palms again. Dumagute-based for now, but then again, maybe not. Reading palms constantly drains me. Or maybe I should start a business. Scratch that out. I don’t even have a couple of hundreds to my name; how would I finance any business ventures? Maybe I’d take a look around geese farms. One of those feathered critters might just have golden eggs.
Ah, another joy of being unemployed. It affords me to hallucinate for free.