I am having an anxiety attack so bad that I can taste it in my mouth. It tastes the way Stephen King is always describing blood- metallic, like a mouthful of pennies..I hear rushing in my ears, and my brain is just racing, racing racing with all the bad luck that I just can't seem to escape, and that will seemingly never end.

I'm sitting here at work, just hoping I get over this, wondering if I will have a break-down and have to quit my job because the constant set backs will never end, and seem like they will eventually cause me to lose my job..even though that doesn't make much sense.

I feel like I am about to vomit, though right now.

Friday I got mail that said because I didn't update my child care assistance worker the status of my child support that I should have been paying a larger co-pay, which I will have to make up for the next 5 months. Never mind that I am now not receiving child support, and will have to tell someone who undoubtedly feels I am a liar this news, because paying a $300 co-pay, at least for August, is unimaginable to me. (here's the thing- she always KNOWS the status of my child support,So she will be able to verify that it has stopped now, and I don't remember telling her it stopped last Christmas, but I apparently did without thinking to update her that it started again. And now I am screwed..)

On Saturday, I got a letter in the mail telling me that according to their records, I was overcompensated for unemployment benefits, and have to pay them back $247. I have 15 days to respond to that.

The houseguest doesn't start his job until Aug. 1. I still owe $425 in back rent to my landlords who called this morning to ask for it, and I don't have it and can't foreseeably (is that spelled correctly or even a word) imagine having it, and I then I think of the fact that we have one running vehicle- one very, very unsafe running vehicle that has no brakes on the driver's side to speak of. The money to fix the "good" car, which I still cannot get out of park since the street flooded in June is also not on my "conceivable" list.

I did my property taxes on Friday, but they aren't in my purse. I don't remember where I put them at home. My desire to go home right now and find those papers is huge. But that wouldn't fix anything. Leaving work wouldn't fix anything, and quite possibly neither is typing this. Typing this is at least keeping me here.

Typing this is at least like putting my poor head down until I can psychically spit the pennies out of my mouth.

Crap. Update: I love you guys for caring about me. Like her for instance, she's apparently the angel most likely to hide a gun in her box of Kaboom cereal. Thanks!