Isn't

I dont know what it is. Each day I'm so exhausted, and I just want to sleep. At night, LB goes to bed, Tom crashes out, and as soon as I lie down in bed, I'm WIDE awake. It's not fair. So here I sit, eating warm potato salad even though the sauce refuses to soak into the potatoes. And there's onions. Not a smart late night snack, but there's nothing else.

Today I was supposed to have my interview. I was stressing to the point of near-anxiety attack this afternoon (my interview was at 7 p.m.) and then doubly so when it turned out Tom left work late. I didn't have time to shower, the shirt I wore wasn't clean, but I did wash and (gasp) blow-dry my hair by giving LB a bunch of bottles and other safe-ish bathroom stuff to play with while I dried. I know I shouldn't say that's how I dried my hair, but it is. To do anything, the first step is to occupy the Bean. Then do whatever you were planning on doing if the entertainment is successful.

On to the "supposed to" part of my interview. I drove the 8 minute drive down the hill to the store. I left 1/2 hour early. The only till open was the customer service till. I waited in line with the other customers to tell the lady I was there to see Charles. I didn't have a watch, but I waited and waited and sweated and shivered, and finally cut over and told the girl that was waiting to take over as the cashier in that line that I was there for an interview with Charles. She blinked. He wasn't there. He left early because he came in early.

Don't people use agendas? You'd think if anyone, HE would. But no. So I'm supposed to go back on Thursday. But I'm going to call him tomorrow and be cheeky and ask first if I would be able to get the hours I know I can work (around Tom's work and LB). If not, fuck 'em.

Sigh.

To unwind from that, Tom, LB and I walked around Ikea for an hour. LB did a LOT of walking. Wow. At one point she must have taken over 50 steps in a row ON HER OWN. She was motoring. I saw a kid there with his mom and sister.... and the only way I can think of to describe him was Quasimodo. That sounds horrible, I know. But my chest ached when I saw him. He was hunchbacked and his face was all stretched wrong... and he was maybe 13. Of course LB made a bee-line for him with a death grip on my finger. I almost wished she'd have gone up to him and given him the big smile she gives random strangers. But she veered around at the last second and kept on going. I saw him wander a bit from his mom to look at some picture on a wall, but there must have been an invisible line or maybe suddenly there were too many people around because he bleated "maa!" and scurried back to his mom to link his arm through hers. The poor kid. I hope he has friends.

Once we got back from Ikea, my SIL IMed us and she and Tom talked for a while. She's working 2 jobs, seven days a week and is making way more/hour than I ever have. And she's only been in this country for a year. From Russia. It just makes me feel so lame, and untalented, and useless.

And one of my younger cousins just emailed me, we haven't talked in 6 or so years. She just graduated from UofT with honours, and is a dancer--ballet, modern, fast sexy stuff.

I know I have LB and she is the most important part of my life and my biggest responsibility. She's a job in herself. But it's still hard to see all these people working, so organized... and my life looks like a shit storm. And I feel like a big ball of frump.