Life goes blah....

I hate money.
I hate it so much I don't want to keep it. If I get any I have to get rid of it. Right away. It burns me and makes me feel dirty.
But it follows me around.
It creeps up at the end of intershopping and reminds me that I need it, otherwise that lovely red top cannot be mine.
It laughs at me when I look at books. I need its paper to buy more paper.
That I need it for the food I want to make tonight.
That I need even a little for a packet of sweets to give my kids.
And it leaves me in a never ending stream of bills and expenses that just grow and grow. No matter that I paid the gas last year, I have to pay it again. The phone bill creeps into my bank and takes the price of my top away.
The water rates creep around and shoe horn themselves into the gap where my holiday spends should be.
Even the union takes the price of a coffee and a croissant off me.
Oh how I wish I was the Queen, who never sullies her hands with filthy lucre.
Or perhaps a vampire who doesn't need Sainsburys.
Or perhaps just gainfully employed so that my little mite were a little bigger.
No, a little bigger than that.


Just a little.

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