Today I could not pay a full month's rent thanks to a crappy part time job that does not pay enough and has been too stressful to work more than a minimum 20 hours per week. It'd make a great job for someone in college or who's retired and on a fixed income for making extra money, but not for someone who needs at least $1,000/month in after-tax income to avoid limping from month-to-month always chronically broke. I have to pay the difference (1/3 of what was owed today) in two weeks when I get paid at my job again. It was the only job I could get after three months of unemployment and after several applications that were mostly rejected or ignored. The writing still pays little to nothing. I cannot get my new short story collection or its cover approved by CreateSpace due to problem with first the cover images and then the manuscript's page setup, I corrected them and tried again earlier today, but watch CS give me more crap about the new files tomorrow. Writing is my calling I know now, but this world won't make anything easy about succeeding in it as a profession. In fact the world seems to usually either thwart my efforts or create bad circumstances and act indifference when not rejecting me outright (as a person or a writer).
Unless something changes for the better in coming days, I don't know how much longer my sanity can endure, or if the stress of that call center job will kill me at some point (even though I know my purpose in life, living is so hard as to make that purpose pointless in the future). Frankly on the 45th anniversary of my birth I would just as soon never had been born at all.