It's Monday, 10:30 am, I leave the house at noon and need to know BEFORE I leave if there's money in the bank.

As in NEED to know.

'Cause I won't get BACK until after the banks close.

So ahem, hello, ARGH, Caleb do you ever check your f'ing mail? Are you awake? At work? At home? Fuckit, I'm gonna try calling you at home.

Nope, no answer.

So you're at work. And you don't think to check email a) before you leave the apartment OR b) when you get to work? What the heck? ARGH!

Yes, I'm tense and impatient. Wouldn't you be? I need to know what the hell is going on before I leave, since we're going to be rushing it to coordinate all of this, dammit, Caleb, PLEASE get your arse online, I don't want to have to call you at work.

*paces*

Dammit dammit dammit dammit DAMMIT.

Fuck yeah I'm impatient. I haven't gotten dressed yet, I'm sick to my stomach, hurting, worried... GODDAMNIT!

ARGH!

*paces some more*

10:40.

See, dammit, he knows it's Monday, he knows I need this information, he knows that I have an IV and therefor won't be home and online after noon to get it... he COULD be waiting until around his lunch break, but dammit, how long does it take? All he has to do is log in to the bank's site, check one figure, email me all of what, 2-3 words, and he's done? Not complicated.

ARGH. ARGHARGHARGH!

If he's not online by 11:00 I'm ringing him. Fuck yeah I'm impatient.

I'm also learning that orange juice on an upset stomach isn't all that helpful, particularly when it's Minute Maid (which is disgusting to begin with) and when it's been pumped full of extra vitamins and minerals. Gack.

So here's me, sitting at the computer, staring at the clock, wondering if my pupils are blown - I should check that too before my mom gets here, I'm half tempted to dose myself again but dammit, I want to be sober when the boy gets here.

Tempting, though. VERY tempting. Wired, hyper, poinging, jittery, skittery, not-at-all hungry... see, I've finally figured out why the hell cold medication and diet pills are sometimes kept side-by-side. This shit is scary-good at making me NOT eat.

Yesterday's food: half a bowl of cheerios, six pieces of black licorice, ten-or-so jelly beans, and a gummi bear. That's IT. And I felt perfectly full, not at all hungry, not at all in-need-of-food. Didn't even have the 'must eat to comfort myself' feelings which pop up far too often. *blinks*

So yah, if I can deal with the tweaker-eyes... *laughing*

No, don't take me too seriously. Yes, I know that shit's bad for me. I really need to remmber not to hint at things that could be taken wrong if you aren't one of the what, two people, who know the joke?

ARGH.

10:50.

10:53.

Screw it. Calling now.

Ok.

Will not panic.

Bank says there's nothing.

Gods... can't panic. Won't panic.

Breathe, Jax.

A week. A full 7-day week and a bit, even. Bank-to-bank money transfer. Full week. Plenty of time. 5 business days.

6 if you count Saturdays, and the bank in question IS open on Saturdays.

I hate this.

Please...

...stop falling apart, stop going to pieces every time I think something's going RIGHT, please, stupid fucked up life, do something right...

*curls up in a very tiny shivering stressed-out miserable worried ball*