Just keep Swimming...Just keep swimming...that's what we do, we swim, swim, swim.

"Just keep swimming, just keep swimming, that's what we do, we swim, swim swim..." - Dory. Finding Nemo.

That's not the best quote I've ever heard, but for some reason it is the only one that I can recall when anyone asks me to recite something from any film, book, poem, or song ever wrote. I don't know why it's stuck with me, but it's always proven to be pretty useless to me creeping into my mind at the most inconvenient of times.

But as I sit here in my last pair of underwear and last clean shirt, trouserless as both pairs hang sodden on my radiator, I can't help upon reflect on my life.

As a particular optimist I've ignored for a while that I might slowly be slipping into a category, and I don't quite know yet whether this category can be considered higher or lower than a student bum, but here goes.

I crawled out of bed this morning and immediately there was a stinging sensation in my feet that told me I needed to sit back down and not stand up anymore. As I contemplated implications of this, I realised it wasn't possible, and that I did have to complete what I'd set out to do that day. Why were my feet hurting? Because I've been working all week non stop, in between lectures and trying to move house. Move house you say, I thought you already had a house? Well yes, but now I have another one. I'm working four jobs and renting houses, flicking back and forth work, uni and whichever house I fancy, none of them are mine, all are rented or loaned by parent or boyfriend and all are at my disposal, which would be lovely, if I could get to them.

A few days ago my car blew up and is costing an extortionate amount of money to fix, giving no guarentee that after the deed is done by some obscure mechanic, as not many are willing to undertake the task of a new headgasket, that said car-object will not continue to blow up, leaving me in the same position.

I'm tired and covered in spots. Not little "time of the month" annoying spots, but massive face welts that make me look like week old porridge. I'm grabbing whatever I can lay my hands on cheaply (Smash. No peas, they're all gone) or whatever handouts I receive (thank you dad, for the Egg McMuffin.) It's not helping diet or spots, or ability to keep mood at a constant. This morning, when I ran to my other house to try and put the washing on I sprinkled the last of my washing powder into the machine and tried to keep it together. I don't have any more money, or underwear, or the means to buy or get new. I really am nearing the bottom of the pile here...

To top it all off, I had my first shift in Chiquitos yesterday and was given numerous training manuals and leaflets on how to successfully perfom my duties; How to be Safe in the Kitchen, How to Wipe the Floor Correctly, How to not pluck out your Eye with the Bottle Opener, and How to be Mexican. The last manuel is not a joke. When changing my employment information on facebook to include my Chiquitos expertise alongside

"Company: Claire's Accessories,
Position: The Bosses' Bitch
Duties: Selling pink fluff to five year olds, it's like kiddy crack"

with

"Company: Chiquitos,
Position: Waitress/ Barmaid/ Senorita
Duties: Running around pretending to be Mexican"

Little did I know how true this was. I learnt that I can be fired for "not being Mexican enough" and am judged on "how Mexican you are." I can't pronounce quesadilla and don't entirely understand the difference between a burrito and a taco, but can't afford to be fired, and so I will don the stupid little moustaches they give me and the funny little sombrero hats they give to guests and stick a marracca up my ass and dance if it means I get to wash my knickers every night.

You won't see me over Christmas as I will either be working pretending to be a Mexican, or I'll be selling crack to five year olds. Yeah, I'm a Mexican drug dealer now, so I guess I only have myself to blame.

But my family will be receiving presents, because while those of you might have laughed at me when in October I announced I'd finished my Christmas shopping, and by November you'd all been written out Christmas cards which sat securely until it was deemed acceptable to give them out; now that the credit crunch well and truely smacked me across the face, for once in my god damn life I was prepared, and while gifts don't matter, I'm glad I can give my family something on Christmas day. Which I'm glad of for purely selfish reasons. I want to be see them smile. Especially when I'm not going to be earning double time, although I am contemplating having Christmas early, maybe the 23rd, the ensure I am able to work double time, but it's an idea I'll have to run past them along with my idea for the construction of a giant tube that shoops me to uni every morning straight from bed, but thats another story.

I have exams. I have no money. I have four jobs and that money isn't even gonna cover it. I'm renting my house. I'm fat and spotty and if I were that kind of person I might slowly start sinking under, but I'm not. Standing in the rain, on the hard shoulder of the M4 last week as I blew my own head gasket trying to get off the motorway before the mean motorway people charged me for being there without breakdown cover, my mind turned blank.

My shoes were so full of water standing in the stream running down the carriageway were I stood motionless as the winter rain stung my face hoping my father would be here soon, as he was coming to fetch me in some form or another after just coming out of hospital for treatment on his neck, when he was in fact not ideally supposed to be driving.

I stood there and cursing all other drivers who didnt stop and help me that day. I stuck my fingers up the raining sky, feeling I was losing an ongoing battle with the elements. Sodden and freezing, my phone beeping low battery, I couldn't help but think "Well, what now?" and that's when it came to me, as it does, at what I've always considered to be the most useless of times, "Just keep swimming, just keep swimming, that's what we do, we swim, swim, swim." So that's what I did. Like the psychotic fool I am, I started muttering the little song to myself as I waded through the water and sat in my car, my father appeared an hour later with a tow rope, and even with his bad neck he managed to get me home that day.

It's ok to feel like your sinking every once and a while. You've just got to wait for something to throw you a life line to help you along and get you back home.

Hope you all have a lovely Christmas. Adios.