I’m coming up to my quarter-life crisis in just 13 days, and I don’t have a dime to my name. The older you get the more money people want from you. I suppose that’s just the economy for you.
I knew I shouldn’t have gotten taco truck, but knowing that I was going to have marinated salmon for a third day in a row was too unappealing. To help ease my guilty conscious, I told myself to bring it home for dinner. My new roommate, Alex, is up in Sac this week to spend time with her mom, so having a home cooked meal by someone else was out of the question.
Oh well. For now I’ll just have to deal with the consequences of my actions.