"Money is better than poverty, if only for financial reasons."
- Woody Allen
“I guess you’re glad you’re paid by the hour.”
My boss said this to me yesterday. I still don’t know what he meant. He befuddles me greatly. I was carefully complaining about the lack of work available to the English team, and that was his response. A salary would mean I get paid even when I’m sent home early. Being paid by the hour instills a certain fear in most of us. The fear of not paying the rent. Perhaps it is this fear I should be thankful for?
As if my landlord were psychic, my rent has been raised by just over $15 a month. And
To make my day even better, I decided to do laundry. I found a sarong in a box under my bed that I want to wear to a Hawaiian-themed birthday party this weekend. It was all wrinkly and musty. I threw it in the washing machine. And then I threw it in the dryer. Then I noticed that it should be hand-washed and hung to dry. Who wears mini sarongs? Oh, I guess I do now.
An advantage to living alone is that I can’t yell at anyone. There’s no point in crying because there’s no one here to feel sorry for me. I just end up spending my evening talking myself out of my pity party and reminding myself that:
A) God is in control (cue Twila Paris, all you CCM fans from the mid-90s).
B) I never wore that sarong anyways. It’s not like I ruined my jeans.
C) Birds of the air are fed, lilies of the field are pretty, and I will not rot/starve here.
D) Maybe poverty will kick my butt into action and get me writing. For money.