Days ago, I started to become someone I didn't dream of becoming. Blame it on the idealism embedded in me by the old world. Ah, the old world with its unnecessary fallacies and fantasies that sugarcoat life.
As for me, I have started to mutate. The genes have nothing to do with it lest cloning might have already made this existence easier than normal. I have never ever dreamed of getting rich as filthy as celebrities and millionaires are. But I finally woke up to the mean reality that I need to get rich at whatever cost to stop all these stressful situations I keep finding myself intertwined with. That's right, minus the "get all I can and can all I can get" schemes. It's more of I'm dead tired of finding ways to survive in a world where cash controls everything even the health of my baby. The meds and the vitamins I need to procure for Shekinah are way beyond my earnings would allow.
I am likewise fully aware of the need to budget what meager earning we get which I am not very good at. But looking at all these from a vantage, budgeting still would not work. We would still be living barely above water. Thus, I plan to do what any basal animal instinct would have pushed anyone to do--surviving. And being rich is the only way to get there soon. As to how, I have no inkling. Recently, I have been praying for that day to come when I would finally hold business and earn more than enough.
A thirty-eight-year-old can dream, can't she?
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