I choose debt. I choose to live in London, I choose to scrape by, be unable to afford a holiday and to think twice before treating myself to a glossy magazine. I choose an interesting and challenging job with very low pay. I choose to worry myself crazy over my poor financial situation on a regular basis. I choose to feel sick to my stomach when I call the bank; I choose to get tight-chested and short of breath whenever I check my balance. I choose to count amongst the paltry possessions I have amassed in my lifetime one chest of drawers from Ikea; one bookshelf from Argos; one CD tower from Ikea, and a laptop which does not belong to me yet, but is still owned in part by Dixons. I choose debt. Apparently.
*Sigh.
That money talks
I’ll not deny.
I heard it once.
It said ‘Goodbye.’
Richard Armour
I choose good health, lovely family, good friends and fabulous shoes too. But why is there always so much month left at the end of the money?
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