Enemalta

My good exact guess (which then wouldn't qualify as a guess) is that Enemalta thinks I am filthy rich. Which in fact I am... until Enemalta decides to squash my wealth by sending in one those damn bills. The type of bills which I open with dread because I know that in a second just a tiny envelope is going to change my life for the worse. 765.56 Euro. That's a bill. One bill. And that sends me into the world of, calling my Mister, crying on the phone, telling him we're going to be without electricity, until he calms down things smoothly, as always and says... don't worry dear we'll pay it somehow. And we do, we almost do. There was one time when Mister got very sick we were forking out hundreds for his treatment and we were on just one salary and we couldn't pay it. Best regards to my dad and dear twin who came to the rescue. But I am 35, I should be able to take care of myself. Sometimes, I wish I lived in a perfect world where my boyfriend and I could be able to stay with my parents. But that is never going to happen, they'd welcome me with open arms of course, but not him. Not even if we got married for thirty times in all the Catholic Churches we could find. That's how it is. So pay the bill we must. And clean all ideas of the beautiful ring my boyfriend saw for me. Poor man, he is a dear, he goes shopping to bring me something along. And he will keep insisting on buying the ring, which is sweet. But for me, having paid the fucking bill will provide a better state of mind. Somehow I will try and persuade him without hurting his feelings. I'll try. So right now it's a poor girl writing here in the middle of the night. Perhaps in a month's time I'll be back to little rich girl. I hope so. Because I really would love my Chanel, and my ring. And I don't like waiting. My heart goes out to all the one-breadwinner families with kids. How do they do it? Enemalta... couldn't it at least, once in a while 'lose' all bills even if it's just for Christmas?