the navel times and observer

Yeah, real bad week. This one began with a correction Tuesday because I confused the East Ward for the West Ward in a story even though I had it dead right in my notes. Not really all that unusual for a guy who has to think about whether he's turning left or right every single time. The lesson, however, is double checking those friggin notes. It's an easy lesson to follow, really, just something I need to make into a nonstop habit. Basically I need to get on my butt to get the stupid thing done.

This was followed by a story that took three days to get out the door because I failed to get another couple pieces of information each day. It started with me being over confident that I had done all the work for the story (not a long story nor one that was worth a whole lot of time, so I thought) and ended with a shaken self confidence against an editor who definitely intimidates the piss out of me.

I get along with him fine on a personal level, at least most of the time, but he's called me out on so many things that I'm afraid to approach him when I have bad news.

So yeah, all that resulted in a verbal reprimand Thursday. A really miserable way to end a miserable week. Or so I thought.

Friday when the ATM says insufficient funds on the day my paycheck came in while I'm trying to get cash for my rent I find out that in the past week I've accumulated 7 overdraft fees from the bank, totalling $203 to really write off the whole bloody week. I hope the people around me thought I was laughing humourously while really it was hysterics as I went to two other banks, a Wal-Mart and a grocery store to get a cash advance on a credit card and a money order to cover the rent.

I ended up covering my rent and, by proxy, utilities for the next month but only with another emergency loan from my parents and now about $50 to somehow find my way to the next paycheck.

Yeah, I covered the last event for the day, a play at one of the high schools in my beat, and went home, where I sought solace in booze. Fortunately booze is pretty reliable for that.

Two martinis and almost a bottle of wine later I was screaming to my brother that "Osama bin Ladin is a woman" on the phone while wandering around my living room (which was in some context at the time but while i remember the lead in i'm not going to try to explain it sober).

It was the zenith (or the low point) for the week. At least it can't get worse? Right?

In other news my coworker met his second young single mother within about 8 weeks of moving here on a night out last night. Frankly I think my luck in that department is about as good sitting in my apartment as it is going out, as I have no interest in dating single mothers, particularly at my age. Neither does my co-worker, which is sorta funny.