SNAP!

And just like that, everything is gonna be alright.

Well, maybe not just that fast. It's been 2 months of hell, and a lot of stress and panic and worry and fear. Two months of working feverishly to make things be alright.

So here's the story. That wonderful job that I had turned very, very sour. So sour that I was getting sick almost every morning before work, not getting any sleep, falling back into anxiety and panic and booze. So I quit. I had to, it was killing me.

Unfortunately, when I quit, I had no savings in the bank, and lots of bills and rent due. I didn't worry too much at the beginning because I figured I could just fall back on temping again like I always have in the past. Only this time, it wasn't so easy. I must have gone to over a dozen agencies, spent the time and money and effort to play their silly games and take their silly tests (typing at almost 90 wpm still, not too shabby). Then they'd blow sunshine up my ass about all the job orders they had on their books and how I'd be perfect for a few of them. And then I'd never hear from them, no matter how many times I called them.

Meanwhile, my cash was running severely low and I had no prospect of getting any more. So I got desperate and started looking around for other ways of getting some money. First, I rented out my spare room to a medical health care worker here on a 3 month contract. Second, I broke down and went back to waiting tables at a small inn for breakfast and brunches on the weekends. This involves me getting up at the butt crack of dawn . . . well, actually before dawn, every Saturday and Sunday. I basically work straight through from 7 am to 3 or 4 pm both days, with barely any time for a break.

You know, getting back into restaurant work has reminded me of a lot of things. How fun it can be, how fun and nice the people who work in the industry are. How nice it is to have ready cash to show for your hard work.

But, oh, how many things I forgot. The sore back, sore legs, aching feet. One other thing I don't remember and it must be a function of age: swollen ankles that look like they belong on a 9 months pregnant woman. Very nice, not.

So finally, after all of this, last week I was offered one short-term contract making a ridiculous amount of money. Simultaneously, I was informed that another, long-term contract was down to me and one other person. And since then, until yesterday, I've been living in limbo. And yesterday, I found out that I got the long contract, still for more money than I've ever made. That news came none too soon, as the short contract was due to start today.

And so, here I sit, enjoying my last few days of freedom before I begin working 7 days a week for the foreseeable future. But you know, I honestly am not going to complain about working all of the time. I know now how lucky I am to be working at all. Financially, I refuse to ever get into this situation again. It really scared me, because I have pretty much nobody in my life who would be able to help me. It's terrifying.

Okay, so I'm going to call my own bullshit. Of course I'm going to complain about working every damn day. But when I do, please know that I do appreciate the opportunity to work at all. It really means a lot more to me than I thought it did.

BTW, I also found out that I can feed myself and the cats on $10 a week. Who knew?