mondays is practically fridays

This is the Friday of my week, in that it's the fifth consecutive day I'm working and I've got the next two days off.
Tonight they are making me stay for a "cash handling class" at 8:30. My shift, by the way, ends at 7:30. The class will be "a half hour to forty-five minutes." And is mandatory.
I am not going to clock out. I am going to sit and wait for the class on their time. They can sort out the paperwork and explain to me why they don't feel they should pay me for that time, but in the meantime I am simply going to do what I do, and leave it up to them to figure it out.

Today will also be fun because it is the start of permanent schedules. I am working 11-7:30 5 days a week. (Well, on Saturday it's 10:45, and Sunday it's 11:30, but it's close enough.) ( And the following is an explanation of how I'm going to have to fight over scraps with the other dogs. )

So, in short, today is going to suck on so many levels and in so many ways, that I can't really truly begin to contemplate it. And yet I really have no choice.

Just quitting is very tempting, especially as I have a cushion in my bank account that I don't know how it got there (probably because I have still been living in the same frame of mind since January when we were living off the credit card), but it's not really that big a cushion, and i'd have to get another awrful orrible job, and another awrful job would probably pay half what this one does and suck just as hard, so... No. But. Tempting. These fuckers is getting me down.

On another note, I came home a wee bit early last night and ate dinner and relaxed on the couch and thought, Hey, I should see if I can do any writing. I cracked open the novel I've made one paragraph's progress on in the last two weeks, and wasn't feeling it, and said ok, I'm just relaxing at the moment so maybe I'll just work on whatever I feel like. So I peeked into my fanfic folder, which was quite a bit dusty, and looked at the various things I'd been working on in there. Hmmm....
....
Nothing. I couldn't write anything.

So I went to bed instead.
Making it rather officially official that I can no longer write for shit. When's the last time I just sat down and got a result out of it?

...

Signs point to June.
JUNE.

In case anybody else hadn't noticed, it's October. Oc. To. Ber.
I think that makes four months.


*heaves dramatic sigh*

my expertise is pastede on yays

This morning I was whining about how I haven't written anything in so long, as y'all know, so this particular event seems rather well-timed.
Today Z called me at work. One of his magazine's interns is out with a death in the family, and the intern was supposed to write the cover story this week. The editor and one of the other employees can pick up most of his slack, but they won't have time to put together a 1400-word story on top of that. Most of the people they could call to write the story are on their to-call list because they want jobs or internships, which would necessitate interviewing etc., and they just want this freaking story written in time for next Wednesday.
"Hm," Z said, "I know a writer."
"Really?" the editor said.
I've taken a class in journalism! I have my B.A. in English! I blog daily! I can produce 1400 words about winterizing one's historical home in no time! Especially since they have the contacts and the sidebars and the photography all handled for me.

Dude, sweet: I could be on A-1 on my first try!

"I don't think they can pay you," Z said.
"I'll work for publishing credits," I said. "At least, this once."

So we'll see: I'm going in tomorrow to meet with them and see whether we can agree on me writing the thing. I'd sort of like to get my hand in freelancing a bit. Perhaps it would make my soul less dead...