LATER THAT NIGHT, ALONE in my pathetic studio apartment, I cook an equally depressing dinner. Pasta from a box, frozen vegetables, and some Cabernet Sauvignon. “Once I have enough money, I’ll splurge on something classier!” I vow with newfound determination, but it could be the wine talking.
Yes, it’s a weekday night, and like most emotionally fueled decisions, it’s one I’ll regret in the morning as a nasty hangover and a roiling stomach. But for now, I’ve decided that the quickest way to dissolve my frustrations is in half a bottle of cheap wine, the one I had left from a shopping trip ages ago. “Soon, I’ll buy myself a new TV, or - even better - a bookshelf to line the wall.”
Having eaten and gotten myself a little drunk in silence, I eventually return to my lonely bed, a wash of sadne
