Cranky Pants

 
Ah, Sunday night. How I hate you so, so much.
 
I know it isn’t going to help me sleep when all I can think about is how I can’t sleep on Sundays, but I can’t help but think about it; as well as lament, bitch, moan and winge about it.
 
Things are not going well right now.
 
I wasn’t going to blog, because I don’t want to compain all the time. I’m very grateful for where I am and what I’m doing. If nothing else, no one will ever be able to say that I lived an ordinary life.
 
But damn it! I am so sick of some of the things I have to constantly work at. My number one complaint right now: money.
 
I hate money. Hate it. I used to want to be rich when I was a kid, but I’m fully convinced now that no amount would ever be enough. The more you have, the more  you spend and you are never really better off. However, I do wish I had enough to last until the end of the freaking month. I mean, really.
 
Now, granted, I brought all this pain and suffering onto myself. I didn’t have to travel to England in the most long-winded and outlandish way possible. I could live in a cheaper flat. I could possibly drink less beer. I could consider budgeting. I could have done or not done a million things. But the problem is, finanically, I’ve been very bad at making the right decisions. I would rather have a good time. And because of my lack of responsibilty for my own finances, I’m forcing myself to live with the consequences this month.
 
On or around May 13th, I realised that I only had £6 in my bank account. That’s bad news bears, ’cause I only have a £10 overdraft and a £15 internet bill that they are going to take payment for (sigh) the day before payday. Arseholes.  In my wallet I have a single £5 note and four £1 coins. I have a handful of miscellaneous change amounting to about another £2.
 
I can’t spend the £1 coins because I need to save them for the electricity meter.
Have I mentioned that yet? My electricity meter? I’ve never heard of such system before moving here. There is a wee box above my door with a coin box and electricity reader thing. I put £1 coins into it to keep the electricity going. It isn’t any more or less expensive, just weird. And I, of course, usually forget to do this until the power goes out and I have to use my mobile phone light to drag a chair over there and put more money in the box. The good news is that the meter was nearly full at the time I realised how dire my financial situation was and I do believe (hope) the £4 will get me through until payday.
 
Which leaves me with £5 until the end of the month. That’s not going to buy a lot of food. It’s been only 5 days since I found out just how poor I am and I swear I’m starving. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I have fuel to spare (mostly sitting around my stomach and ass, unfortunately), but I’m getting tired of only having popcorn and a few old oranges to eat. I think I’m going to fast next weekend just to make sure that I make it to the end of the month. At work I’ve been eating a bowl of cereal for lunch (which I’m now out of – yikes) and all the buscuits in the communal tin. And lots of coffee with milk.  I’m going to buy a bag of rice and that should do me until the 30th, which is officially payday.
 
A friend of mine at work, Caryn, has offered to lend me at least £20 to get through the next few weeks, but I’ve refused. For once it isn’t my damned pride, but rather that I feel I need to suffer a bit this month to (hopefully) learn a damned lesson. If I blow through all my money at the beginning of the month, this is what is going to happen from now on.
 
This should be the last month where money is so tight. After this I should be past the impact of moving house. Hopefully.
 
The second complaint I have these days is work. I know I *should* be happy right now – I was just promoted a week ago. I suppose that’s why I’m double-not-happy about work… I should be happy, damn it! But all my promotion earned me was more bullshit, more work, and the animosity of my coworkers. If I have to hear one more snarky congratulations, I’m going to punch someone in their snarky little face. Honestly. 
 
I thought that with the change in title and more clearly defined role, I would have more time to focus on the kind of work that I should be doing. But good Lord – there’s being flexible and then there is the ever-changing priorities that we are all having to constantly deal with at work. It does my head in. Every time I turn around I have another "number one priority" job to do. I went through my todo list to see how bad things were – out of the 30+ items on the list, 4 were tasks and the rest were all labled "projects".  And as soon as I start on one, I have to drop it and start another. Again, I like to think of myself as flexible. But what I’m doing now takes more creativity (lots of copywriting) and it is hard to stop and start constantly. And some of the new stuff that they are talking about giving me to do… well, it essentially changes my entire job again and I just had it changed a week ago. And that promotion was the third job change since the day I walked in the door. Good grief.
It is worse though – I feel like they’ve trapped me at work. I’m happy that my new title doesn’t have the word "Assistant" in it (it is "Business Producer", by the way, which… as far as I can tell… means fuck all) as I do not want to be an Assistant anymore. I don’t know what I do want to do, but it isn’t doing someone else’s running around while they get the credit. But the thing is… now I’m trapped. I have to work under the new title for a respectable amount of time or it does me no good on my CV. Aurgh!  And although some days I like my job and the people I work with, this last week has been an utter shit-show of unhappiness.
It probably doesn’t help that I’m hungry.
Anyway, I didn’t want to complain about all that… although I guess I just did. There’s more to life that’s driving me bugshit right now, but I do think those are the top two largest things at the moment. I’ll leave my crippling ennui and soul-crushing loneliness for another sunshine-filled post. 
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