Almost a working woman

I have a job. That's right, the Mix is in the business.  A girl at the hostel which I now call home, Jo, is going back to Sweden next week. She offered me her job and took my C.V. (resume) in, and got me an interview. I went by this morning and Stuart (the manager) said "This is the store, we sell Miss Sixty and Energy, you won't really be able to start until the end of the month because that is when Josephine is leaving, but I'll call you on Monday and you can come in for one day next week for training.". That was it. That was the interview. I have no idea why I get so nerve racked about these things. I HAVE A JOB!!! This means I can stay, and potentially marry the man of my dreams. I didn't know his name and thought he looked like a Jesse, so he is known (to those who I talk non-stop to about him) as "the Jesse"...although I now know that is not his name...I was close. And I can sit for hours on the pebble beach if I want to.  I absolutley love this beach. Although there hasn't been any ideal beach weather, I still spen evenings down there with my discman and book, counting the sailboats on the horizon. But it looks like it may be tanning weather today!!
So, that's it. I have a job. I HAVE A FUCKING JOB!!!!!!!!!

I'm free, to do what I want, any old time!

As soon as I walked out of the internet point on West Street on July 16th, my mobile rang. It was Miriam from immigration in London. "I've gone through the right people," she told me, " and you're free to work. You don't have to do anything."
Now I just have to find a job.
Thank you Miriam from immigration (if that truly is your name, I just remember that it started with an 'M'), you are a life saver.

Immigration. What a pain in the ass!!

This morning I stood in my  blue plaid flannel pajama pants and my black Gap hoody with the little Canadian pin on the pocket in a phone booth littered with adds for full-body transvestite massages in the gay capital of  the UK, talking to a woman at the immigration office in London.  This is what she told me: Because I came into the country earlier than expected and my work visa was not yet valid, my visitors visa cancelled it out. As these words came over from the other end of the phone, I could feel the tears welling. I called my mother. It was 4:30 am on her end. She didn't care.
I have been told by immigration that I have to go back home and apply for another visa. To me, this does not make sense.  Should it?
I have been having trouble finding a job in the only place I have felt at home since I have been there.  (I found it quite ironic and almost hulimiating that the only place that I felt relatively at home in France was at the circus where L.O.D.'s younger sister was performing. What does that tell you about the community I live in? Eccentric is the only word for it.). Brighton is a sea side city with a small town feel that makes it almost inapropriate to reffer to it as that. Here, I can be who I want to be,  and I won't be judged. I can have as many peircings as I want and not have to worry about not getting employed (labrette labrette here I come...already took the belly button plunge since I've been here and I didn't even want to get that one done...I'm addicted I tell ya!). I have already (in true Mix 'gets-along-with-everyone-then-gets-attached-too-easily' fashion) made tons of new great friends and the only thing that is missing is something that generates money.  I have a place to live at the Walkabout Backpackers and although it isn't cheap and you can't really leave your food in the fridge because otherwise the fucking spaniards will eat it, I have began to reffer to it as home.  And not only that, but the newest addition to my 'to marry' list works at the pub below the hostel. Why, do I have to leave then????? Why is it that it seems that everytime I get comfortable somewhere I have to end it? I keep on extending my visit, and also burning more money while i'm at it...at first I was to only stay there for two days, and now have been there for two weeks. And am thinking of maybe booking one more. But the fact of the matter is, I have no money.
Who the hell said that money can't buy me happiness??

Bless the old man who has no home yet still feeds the birds

Everything about the city is angry today. The drivers honking their horns more than usual, the crowds pushing in the streets begging for a spot on the grass in the gardens, the pigeons, anxious as the homeless people for a meal, the sun beating down on the sidewalks, and myself. I find myself in this state of mind because of one thing:
I've become a hypocrite. I've become the kind of person that I would point a finger at and shun. I found myself walking down the street today, the first day that I was actually on my own, and ignoring the cups in outstreched hands, and the cries for help from the bums selling newspapers on the corners. I justified this by telling myself that it was okay because I can barely afford to feed myself (gross overstatement), because I too am now a homeless bum. This didn't make me feel any better. The worst was this. i passed a man who appeared to be having a heart attack against the subway window. I didn't stop to ask if he needed help because someone on the sidewalk had their phone out and I figured that they were 'probably calling the paramedics'. Usually you don't feel badly about these things until sometime after, but as I was walking past this man suffering on the sidewalk, I could feel guilt overcome me and yet I could not bring myself to stop. What kind of a person am I? I'm the worst kind. How am I going to be able to spend my life helping the less fortunate if I can't even stop to call an ambulance for one lonsome man who may be dead as we speak because of my actions?
While walking England back up to the Brighton train station, a man, having a row with two others, stormed off, and while directly in front of us, threw a glass bottle on the sidewalk. Shards of glass flew everywhere, hitting my ankles and England's wrists. If he had been any closer to us, then he could have hit us in the faces. Or worse. The eyes. But this didn't anger me because even I know what it's like to be that angry. Sometimes I wish that I had something to smash.It's a good way to release your anger, not mind you, on a busy side walk, but somewhere secluded and secure from others.
How is it that even the least fortunate people can find it in themselves to help others but I can't even pick up a phone? Like the man who feeds the pigeons? Carrying his home around on his back and hardly able to eat, himself? yet can still spare some bread for the birds. Now that is compasion.
So this is how I'm feeling today. Overwhelmed, confused, and frustrated. So much in fact that I contemplated throwing myself underneath a car, but then thought 'nah, what's the use in that?? That would be taking the easy way out. I should have to feel the way I feel for what I have done!!'
Maybe I'll redeme myself tomorrow? Not bloody likely! And I bet it's pissing rain too!!