This new schedule of mine is starting to take its toll. I'm exhausted. I'd much rather work a full 40-hour week in 4 days than have it spread across 6 days. I can't plan anything, I don't get to see my boyfriend, let alone take my dog for a long evening walk before bed. Meals are a problem also : technically I get a free meal per work shift, but for some reason I have to take advantage of this, well, advantage. The free meal is conditional to a minimum of 5 consecutive hours worked, but on any given shift, after 5 hours I'm knee-deep in my duties. And after work, the last I want is to stay at the "office" and eat alone. So I eat when I get home. But what to eat at midnight? Toast. What do I eat when I get up? Toast. And maybe an egg. Like my mother said when she was working nights as a nurse, "I'm always having breakfast".

But this new job is also affecting me emotionally. And it's not just my being tired that's getting me down and seeing black. People at work are tough. Competitive. The pay is depressing. No benefits. Jesus Christ, I'm 34 years old and making just above minimum wage ! Last year, when I was a designer, I was making more than twice what I'm making now. And travelling. (Going to Toronto and Ottawa DOES qualify as travelling, I've decided.) Sure I was alone most of the time, and I was under some stress, but who isn't?

What's even more depressing, and troubling, is that out of the thirty or so résumés that I sent out, this restaurant is the only call-back I got. The only interview I got. And I applied for designer positions, retail jobs, The Home Depot. Nothing. I can't even get into The Home fucking Depot ?!!

Right now, I'm seeing my present and future as bleak. Not quite as much as when I learned three weeks ago that I would no longer be receiving unemployment insurance, but still, my self esteem is pretty low. I've alienated my friends, my family and potential employers. My boyfriend is spending a lot more time with his friends - I don't blame him. Even my dog stays away.

Yep, I'm pretty negative. I'm allowing myself a fifteen minute pity-party per day. Okay, per week.

I've screwed up.