October 10, 2012
At least Samantha doesn't live there anymore
I can't sleep. I'm too anxious, my mind too restless. I went to bed at midnight, it's now two, and I've been tossing and turning the whole time, wide awake. I'm tired to be sure, but sleep refuses to come. I've already rehearsed my interview answers four times. I better get this damn job.
Perhaps I can't sleep because it's so imperative that I land this gig. Everything is resting on this sole interview I've managed to get. Everything. Eating. Driving. Paying my credit card. Registering my car. One day leaving. Without this job I am totally fucked every which way and finally poor enough to feel it rather severely. Before you know it, I'm going to be crawling back to the country with hopes that my grandmother will take me in, and she herself only had humble offerings to give.
I need this more than anything. But sleep would be nice, too.
scullerymaid at 1:50 a.m.