Monday, March 29, 1869

Dear Diary,

I begin to harbor greater and greater concerns with regard to my personal finances. It is said to be a rather rude thing to always speak or think of money, but I truly cannot see how to avoid it! My needs so closely draw near my means that I fear I shall deplete my coffers long before my shop earns a profit sufficient to maintain my lifestyle.

I must borrow. There is simply nothing else to be done. I hope Mr. Plutonian grants me a favorable interview. Although I loath to be indebted, I abhor even more fervently the notion of myself as a penniless urchin cast upon the streets.

In the meantime, I have taken to earning whatever small pittance I have it in my power to obtain. On the moors, for example, there stands an ancient, rain-soaked castle. Here, I pass many an hour in thunder and lightning for the chance to receive a mere 2L per each ten minutes during which I grace the castle with my presence. The location is actually a rather agreeable spot beneath a shade tree and within view of fountains and fauna aplenty. While I sit, I also craft clues for my RPG, put together books for my store, and work on lesson plans. The time is not wasted. Still, I never expected to find myself reduced to such means.

Recently, I spoke to my solicitors and managed to convert my little annuity (left to me by my grandmother, God rest her) to a weekly stipend of 300L. The first installment shall be paid to me tomorrow. The frequent payouts reduce the interest that can be earned by the account, thereby gradually reducing its worth. I had hoped neither to dip into this reserve nor to tamper with its future efficacy, but necessity compels me to ‘borrow from Peter to pay Paul,’ as the saying goes.

My little shop also helps me from time to time. Most recently, Mr. Kozlov stopped by and left me a tip. I feel very grateful for his generous assistance. Furthermore, when classes begin, I shall receive a fee of 25L per hour for the use of my property. Eventually, Miss Masala hopes to pay me a teaching stipend, as well, you know. Again, I never before conceived of myself in the role of governess to anyone, let alone a mere teacher. Between my teaching and my store, I should be able to earn enough to keep me in room and board in New Babbage. I feel less confident about my land fees, but I hope the store will become successful enough to pay for itself.

At least I can comfort myself with the notion that my grandmother’s alpine home was willed to me free and clear. Should all else fail, I have a home. The place is in no very convenient location, I assure you. It’s part of a crowded Tahoe resort. Still, it may do as collateral or as a last resort. I may be able to fetch something for the furnishings, as well. My grandmother had exquisite taste. The bed linens alone must have cost her 100L! The main sitting room consists of a cozy reading nook by the fire, while the bedroom sits on a loft with a lovely view of the room. The real treat, though, is the richly appointed spa. My grandmother built the home atop a spring, you see, and engaged a well regarded engineer to equip the house with an indoor hot spring for bathing. Everything about the bathing room screams luxury. In my grandmother’s final days, her aching bones found solace in the warm waters. Now, in my time of need, I may find solace there as well — or, rather, in the income I can garner by selling that machinery to an interested party.

Oh, dear! Look at the time! I have run on for pages and pages, and all about money. I suppose I now qualify as very ill-refined, indeed. I must go to bed.

Until next time, then, I remain —

Your Nearly Destitute,

–Miss Palabra Puddlegum–

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