Inward Bound Within Apartment B44

The ghost of Harriet Harris abhor real disillusioned, disenchanted, and disembodied (incorporeal spirit of mine late mother) doth feel displeasure toward this sole son seal ling himself most every day inside the one bedroom flat, a bargain deal asper costs pegged to monthly social security disability as sole income intended to support me, and the missus, who does not troll the internet for employment, and in fact exhibits no goal to supplement marginal roll, out sans unearned income, especially now, (no surprise I wanna be a bachelor) cuz finances teeter on cusp of red hole mainly whereby two sizable automotive costs (within a six plus month period) sunk me soul, and psyche on the point of despair, where goal to be alive undermined nearly being penniless and this communique not aiming to trawl for sympathy, nor remuneration, which latter would definitely draw scowl upon countenance of eldest daughter completes University study (housed with her eminent beau within city of brotherly love), awl so this papa disinclined to apprise her meager finances put me the dole drums mainly aforestated a cup pull of hefty car repairs spurs impetus to burrow self like a mole whiling away hours of each twenty four hour listening...perhaps for me the bell will toll (at long last mitigating this deplorable strait no life atoll where today hard pressed upon Highland Manor knoll, and basically undifferentiated from yesterday), budget restrictions limit choices, hence I stay inside, where the brutal cold oye vey also contributes preference to remain comfortable at 60?Fahrenheit until April or May solitary (trivial) purrs hoots occupy time, to allay writing, reading, meditating, exercising... staves off ennui until...these lovely bones turn brittle, and shock (wave) of brown hair turns gray.