Money, Money, Money…

Turns out it costs quite a pretty penny to phone some lovely chap in England. A lot. A lot of pretty pennies.

As we know, when it rains, true to form, it always pours–

I am in over my head.

And no amount of worry is going to shift that.

It is what it is.

My great debt.

Still, it’s nice to be up and out of bed. Moving around. Seeing people. Saying things. Interacting socially. It really is. And it’s been a while.

A 30 year old Cohen threw in his life long ambition of writing books to pursue a career in music as he was a wee bit hard up for cash, once upon a time. There may be strength in that argument. There may well be.


Me and my Shit. Fuck. Shit. Money. Face.


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