The Biggest Yawn Ever

It's a slow afternoon here today, so I'm tempted to post again. Sadly, I'm giving in to that temptation, obviously. Given that even a brisk walk up a lovely boulevard in Winter sunshine didn't manage to kickstart my day, I'm hoping that this will. So, as I struggle through the biggest yawn of a day ever, I'll try not to fall asleep at the keyboard and get through without putting anyone else to sleep either.

It's a pay day today - one of the good things about it. It's lucky for me that it is, though. Somehow, I'm not so great with the whole concept of budgeting. I'm sticking to the budget, up to a point, but that doesn't mean it's working out for me. Let me explain. I earn a certain amount - no, I'm not planning to put down the pitifully small amount that my 7 years of study nets me. Let's just say that the architecture profession needs a union. Now - and that amount goes straight into my bank account each week. It stays there for about half an hour every week. THat's it. By tomorrow, it will all be gone, redistributed to various points around town. There's the bit that goes to pay for my car (ooh, and if anyone knows someone who wants a nice, low milage, well-looked fter blue 2003 astra? Let me know. It's for sale soon!); there's a chunk that goes straight to my credit card; another whack goes into my ever-shrinking savings account. I'm left with a pittance, a tiny fraction of the total amount on which to live. And I promise you, no matter how much it is, byt Wednesday morning, there will be none of it left. I live through Wednesday without a cent to my name - or to my purse, at any rate - and try very hard to avoid the cravings for anything that involves spending money.

Given the whole must-work-for-money tenor of my life right now, the cravings come in the shape of longings for junk food. Chocolates, chips, potato cakes, dims sims, coke - hell, iced tea seems pretty attractive right at this minute. That makes it doubly hard when one of the guys in here taunts me with the food he's going to be buying for afternoon tea. He has, generously, offered me a dollar, before going through his own options: cheesecake, battered savs, ice creams, deep fried mars bars (notice the theme of foods involving amounts of fat I'd normally shudder to think of but today, simply because I know I can't possibly have them, want desperately). Perhaps the worst part is knowing that, if the boot - or the cash - were on the other foot, I'd do exactly the same thing to him. But until I get home and get my money out tonight, all I can do is rub in how many years of the torture that is an architecture degree he has left. With 18 months to go, I figure I've got bragging rights for the moment. Because, as he so eloquently puts it, singing a happy tune, "Uni sucks. It really, really, really sucks."