I'm not going to be able to make my bills this month. There's that. Awesome, right?
I keep praying and praying, and I try not to worry but every day I feel a little bit more frantic. A little bit more useless. I'm applying for five more jobs today, and then I'm going to go sit in the library and read a crapton of magazines and try to freelance for them. I still haven't heard back from Pam about the freelance work I did for Spaces. This could mean one of two things. Either it's a) brilliant or b) been killed and I'm financially doomed. I'm praying for the former. Plus, Pam likes me.
But I haven't heard a peep! I think I will go drop off my contract in person after practicing my pathetic widdle puppy-eyes. I also I think I'm going to send a letter of availability to the project coordinator over there and pitch a couple of ideas for a fall and winter story.
... After, of course, I apply for these reporting positions on the ass-end of the cities. We all know how much I looooove driving across the metro in the 9-5 traffic.
This would all go away if Project SUCCESS would hire me. They're only 10 blocks away from my house, and they're non-profit and small and helpful, which totally supports my wacky, communist ideals. I really want them to hire me. I <3 them like woah. I'll bake cookies for them.