I watched the toast burn because I was thinking about money again

Dear Delyara, I don’t even remember what exact thought started it. Maybe the gas bill. Maybe the school shoes I need to buy next month. Maybe the dentist. Maybe the accumulating awareness that one more small problem could tip the emotional tone of the week faster than I want to admit. All I know is that I was standing in the kitchen, and by the time I smelled the toast, it was too late. That felt symbolic in the most irritating way. Money gets into everything when it lives close enough to fear. It enters breakfast. It enters sleep. It enters joy before joy has had a chance to become innocent. It narrows moments that should have remained small. I scraped the toast, made another round, and felt angrier than a piece of bread deserved.