Qwertyuiop.
So I’ve been pretty domesticated, staying home or running around doing groceries. I actually enjoy seeing the flood of labels and foodstuff assail my eyes each time I step into a supermarket. That aside, I haven’t been helping much around the house, so that’s double damage from the Mother. Being a housewife really isn’t as free as it seems, you know.
Anyway.
It’s a strange deja vu, even in the hospital-like 2nd floor of Fairprice Finest. Don’t mind me, but the sterile design (shiny white, c’mon) of the supermarket never fails to bring out the irony that most of the foodstuff there are um, dead.
I seem to find one after another activity that’s more appealing than looking for a job. Have I ever mentioned that I detest calling up people whom I’m not familiar and asking for something? Sigh, I underestimated my abilities to withstand the disease of being free and lazy. It’s a disease, I say.
Only that being absolutely broke doesn’t make it feel any better.
