So. I've been working for WHSmith for about five weeks now, four and a half hours every Saturday, with a fairly large sprinkling of extra hours in between. By rights I should have earned over a hundred pounds by now. Checked my bank account today; turns out I've been paid for three weeks of work.

...yes, that is the sound of me seething. How did you tell?

Oh, GOD. I mean, admittedly, there was a tiny mix-up with the pay, as they told me, because they somehow didn't know which hours I had worked, despite the fact that THEY asked me to work them. Nonetheless, I went and recorded them in the appropriate place, and they said I would be paid on Friday. Naturally, I assumed I'd be paid for all the hours I'd worked, including the regular ones for five weeks. Evidently I was a little too hopeful on that account.

Fuck. FUCK. I made a tiny mistake; why the hell has this happened?

Shit. I'll have to go into work tomorrow and sort all this out. Methinks they won't think too kindly of me talking to them again. But...I haven't been paid, for God's sake!

Once again, fuck. Angry.

...and, as it turns out, my Dad probably is too. Just got off the phone with my Mum; turns out the Meatloaf concert they were due to go to in Birmingham is cancelled. I am NOT looking forward to seeing how disappointed he'll be when he gets home.

Also, did I mention that school is attempting to steal my soul?

Even this can't cheer me up.

Well...maybe just a tad.