Please sir

I want some more.

Well, I've been thinking. About all the whining I do. Someone said to me earlier that life isn't fair: well, you know, I think maybe it is. I mean, look. I was brought up by parents who love me and each other, in a nice house in an affluent area in one of the wealthiest countries in the world. I'm healthy, reasonably intelligent and not mirror-breakingly ugly. I get to do the job I want to do most in the world, and I actually get paid for it. Sort of. Right now my biggest problem is how to stop the kittens bursting in and playing tug-of-war with my hair at five am. So I'm perennially broke and chronically single. So what?

There are people out there who have no money, no food, no house, no health. Let's face it, there are people out there who are just really ugly. So really, it's not life that isn't fair, not to me. What's not fair is that I have all that, and I want more.

I want my own house. I want my own car. But to get that, I'd need to earn... oh, say ten to fifteen times what I do now. More, if I actually want to be able to buy new clothes every now and then, or take a holiday sometimes. I want the great romance, or at least someone who's financially solvent, can carry a conversation, laughs at my jokes, likes cats and is nice to look at.

But. It's kind of a lot to ask for. Especially when, as I said, my life doesn't exactly suck. I got my eyes, got my nose, got my fingers, got my toes, got my boobies. I got life.

So it's probably rather selfish of me to want any more. Bad, bad middle class white girl.