in which nothing goes according to plan

The last handful of days have been somewhat odd (she says matter-of-factly, because somehow she has forgotten how to panic?). There was much driving, and the car nearly broke down -- not the rental, ours -- and yesterday morning I learnt via a phonecall from my bank that my account has been overdrawn by about three hundred dollars. Approximately fifty of that I spent in Nova Scotia, on souvenirs (Stanfest t-shirt; inexpensive seashells; A Present; a vintage necklace) and snacks (Canadian sweets, which are frequently awesomer than ours, but expensive!; bread; pastries and cocoa at the coffeeshop). The rest is all fees. Fees from originally overdrawing my gorram account, which since I had no way of knowing I'd done so -- and I'm a little ashamed of myself, but I thought I had more money in my account than that; I should have checked -- and then those triggered more fees and still more and now I am three hundred dollars in the red. Mum owes me thirty-two, Dad owes me four, and I have three dollars in my wallet and some change, God help me. I might be able to get the bank to waive the fees considering that half the reason they built up so much was because I was out of the country, and this is my first bank account, and Mum suggested I look as close to tears as possible... if I can do that, fifty dollars shouldn't be terrifically impossible. Except that I have no job. No, I haven't been fired; I just haven't worked in a month. I really ought not to tell my boss that I'm going on holiday, because every time I ask for a week or two off, he just stops putting me on the schedule from then on until some time after I get back. I have no work next week, and no leftover paychecks. My manager said, almost reprovingly, "you can't get paid unless you're here," at which I suddenly wanted very much to hit or smash something. I asked for two weeks off. You didn't schedule me for the rest; it's hardly that I'm bloody unwilling.

My first inclination as I walked out was to burst into tears and crumple onto a bench somewhere, but I gulped it down and channelled it into determined rage, which wave I rode on for the next hour, stalking into half the stores in the mall and telling them that I needed a job. I picked up about seven applications, have a couple to look up online, and, oddly enough, have an interview with Claire's on Monday. The woman behind the register told me, "We're still accepting applications, and probably hiring in a week," and as I folded my application to put in my bag, she said, "When you bring that back -- are you available for an interview on Monday at 3:30?" "Absolutely," I said. I hope this is an encouraging sign.

Rode around town, didn't find much, came back sick from the humidity. Mum provided emergency chocolate, I curled up with a comfort book. Sometime today I'll go talk to the bank -- the little one across the street gave me a printout, but I have to talk to the bigger one a few blocks away. Ugh. Time fades courage, rather.