My coffee maker broke, my Mr. Coffee, Joe DiMaggio is dead. I had to make coffee on the stove. I used to make hobo cowboy coffee all the time, until I moved here, and Elaine got me a coffee maker. Then it broke -- it was my fault. I left it on all day, and it burned out.
Now I am scraping until the next pay day, so I don't know if I can buy another one.
I need a more comfortable chair, a classical guitar, some running shoes.
I might need a new muffler for my car.
I'm not actually worried about money right now. I refuse to complain, as some do, about the low pay of journalism. It's clear to me that the pay is commensurate --- it is simply too damn much fun being a reporter. If I walked off this job, I would be quickly replaced.
Plus the dignity -- My job has TONS of dignity.
I just wish I had some friends. I will never have friends in this little town. I've been here three months now -- three months is long enough to know that there will be no friends. Yet, there is so much about this place that I love, and especially I like my job. Okay, I can't figure that out today -- off to work.
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