A tissue

During my long years in the Sandlands one of the things that struck me was the ubiquity in offices of boxes of tissues. I learned that their availability to guests had more to do with hospitality customs than any prevalence of the common cold. 

When I came back to Europe I brought with me a decorative dispenser box. It's not quite as elegant as the one illustrated, much more kitsch with scarlet velour and a filigree of plastic pretending to be gold mesh. Having tissues to hand is useful, given that in the evenings I tend to have bouts of sneezing and suffer from a runny nose... probably a sign that my little flat could be better ventilated than it is.

One by one, I pull a tissue from the box. And eventually I have pulled out the last one. Damn it... I have to put tissues back on the shopping list. In this time of impecunity I hate having to add any purchase to the few basics I regularly need to buy. That final tissue in the box takes on a symbolic significance. 

These gloomy thoughts are provoked by the frustration I feel, waiting still for payment for a job I did at the beginning of September. Under-employment sucks!