There's No Place Like Home.

Not that I don't like Miami. I do very much. I like it all...the architecture, the people... It's just, I think I'd like Miami on vacation better. While wearing my bathing suit (which unfortunately, I didn't have sent to me or really have time to use). This working every day thing for a thousand days straight-- well, not really a thousand-- just nine days straight is really a little draining after awhile. Being "on" all the time is draining. Granted, I'm the one who scheduled the trip this way. I needed to make $1,500 to pay my rent and bills. So the $1,500 trip. Yes, that's what 10 days gets me. Unfortunately, not until August 15th. So it also gets me stress. Do I tap dance for my not-so-kind landlord until the 15th or borrow money yet again and pay it back on the 15th? It's a toss up, I think. In other words, ladies and gentlemen-- let me just reiterate-- if you can avoid bankruptcy, do. Why? Well simple. Besides paying a couple hundred bucks to a man in a mini mall a long ways away to fill out all your paperwork erroneously not just once or twice, but three times, you also get to drive downtown and sit in a courtroom filled yes, FILLED with other people doing the same thing. You raise your hand, promise you're you, that you didn't buy anything big and fun for yourself and have no plans to do so. That you didn't hide any money (if only). And that's it. Most of the other people at my courthouse had interpreters. So much for the American dream, right? Anyway, so that really wasn't the worst part. That comes later. When you realize you don't have that cushion we call a credit card. Because if you had credit cards. And were solvent, you wouldn't be freaking out about being out of pocket for gasoline and parking and tips and all that stuff. You also wouldn't have no money in your bank account as a result. Although debit cards are a blessing, they're also a curse. Of course, if I was getting paid more and worked consisently and had health insurance, this all may not be an issue either. Which is why most of the women doing these freelance jobs are married. Which I should have paid attention to. Getting married. As if. And that this is the going rate for this type of work. Although I am thankful to have had the work itself and been able to go to Florida and Vegas and things like that, it really doesn't make good longterm financial sense for a single woman with precarious mental health.

All this considered and the fact that I have no idea what's going on with the company I'm working for... we're all a little in the dark, it's time to find a new position. Yesterday I learned that another person is leaving. The one who got me reimbursed for my expenses. Not such a good sign. And for some reason, my sister, who has a place to live whether she works or not is much more in a tizzy about all this than I am. Apple... tree, anyone? She's kind of a Chicken Little. She's also had more issues with what she's been getting paid than I have and hasn't stopped talking to me about it since she started the position. How her husband thinks it's not worth her time. So why didn't she quit? She liked it. I could tell. Just not the money. Welcome to my world, I told her. And not even really. I wish I had a husband telling me I was worth more. Anyone telling me I was worth more. Maybe even myself.

So last night I canceled my date and applied for 5-- count 'em 5 jobs on the internet (which may not sound like a lot, but it takes awhile to find them). All of these jobs required new and exciting cover letters and fancy modifications to my resume. I swear I could publish a book. Maybe I should. What has failed to work on exactly 3,542 occasions. Well, maybe. Close to that. Maybe more. That's scary. Anyway. Fingers crossed I get called in for at least one. Phooey to dreams, I need money. I'm going into another temp company on Tuesday and doing the mandatory spelling test, typing test, computer skills test like last time. Only this time, I plan to lie. To say I don't need to be happy. I don't need to think. I just need to make money. I'll think on my own time. And hopefully write. Things other than cover letters and resumes. And finish that script once and for all. And come back to Miami as a common tourist. Forgetting about things like skin cancer and and baring skin that no one else wants to see.