WARNING: This is a long, whiny and personal post about the adult responsibility of paying dem bills.
How do I even start. I’m 22 years old and already working but still broke (and I’m telling broke in a superlative context). This post is a reminder of where the hell my money goes and why it should go to a place where I know it’s safe from harm against my cold hands.
Red, white, blue is in the sky
Summer’s in the air and
Baby, heaven’s in your eyes
I’m your National Anthem
I don’t actually do any exercise, which is really bad. But I wear heels a lot. My theory is that it’s painful, so it’s gotta do something.
I promise, this will be the last time.
It has been a year.
Well, almost. In just a few weeks. And you know what sucks? That I still remember it. Every bit. Every detail. Every word. I guess I never really moved on. Or maybe I did. But I keep on looking back. Looking if you are following back. Apparently, you don’t. You never did.