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??