My new, very glamorous life as a free-lance writer

Hello blog, bloggy, bloggity blog.
It's late, and I am hungry and this page must be completely redone very soon.
I am still alive and I love you all.
Things are not as dire as them seem, but they do seem a little dire.
oh food . . . I remember when I could afford to purchase you from the grocery store on a semi-weekly basis and eat a variety of different kinds of you at my leisure. Oh what simple and idyllic days those were.
oh parking ticket . . . I remember the days before you entered my life and I often thought to myself "if I make fifty dollars freelancing this week, I can put it in my savings, or maybe buy some yogurt since I will not have to pay THE MAN any of my hard earned dough!"
Oh computerized version of solitaire . . . I remember when I would only feel guilty for playing you because I was wasting my quick wit and youthful energy wondering if I would ever be able to match a red queen to my black king, and not necessarily because life and death (my own) depended on my ability to meet self-imposed deadlines.
Also, I do not feel like my eyes hurt quite so much back then.
Mom and Dad, no not send money as it would compromise my dignity.
(Also, I am not completely broke, and am able-bodied enough to get another job if I need it!)