Craft fair went suckily. $25 for the table. Sold $19 worth of jewelry. One sale. One frickin' sale. Don't know what happened to the person who said she'd buy a necklace but I waited until the absolute last second to disassemble my displays and she never came back. Gave away three business cards and heard about a craft fair next month and, because I brought my supplies with me, left with a bunch more inventory than I came in with. And there was a girl when I was cleaning up who asked how it'd gone and told me she thought I was overpricing my things because the other jewelry vendors were selling their earrings for $5. I suppose I could sell my cheapest things for $5 instead of $10. If I value my labor and creativity at $0, that is. $5 about covers materials, shipping expenses, Etsy's and Paypal's cuts, and the ten percent of every sale I give to charity, and that only if materials come to under a dollar, and I'm not giving a discount to people who buy at craft fairs instead of online. And my labor and creativity are damn well worth something.

So between the table price, the hot dog I bought because it was lunchtime and I was hungry, and the earrings I'd cheerfully have paid $15 for if they weren't tagged $5, today's excursion has put me $12.50 further in the hole. $14.40 once we figure in the charitable donation, which Mom is going to laugh at me for and probably refuse on behalf of our square dance club (she's the club treasurer, so she's the one to whom any donations go, and because it was square dancer earrings that sold, it's the square dance club gets the money). Le sigh.

And apparently Occupy Somewhere got a bunch of paper dumped on them, which pissed the occupiers off, because they were job apps for McDonald's. Because clearly the McDonald'ses of Somewhere have enough job openings for all the occupiers who haven't got jobs. And this is amusing to my mother, for reasons I can't parse. And when I point out that this is in fact highly offensive, because there are six fucking job applicants for every job opening, and also many of those applicants have valuable skills better used not flipping fucking burgers and asking if you want any fucking fries with that, Dad shouts me down, because apparently I'm not allowed to have opinions contrary to Mom's while I owe her money and live in her house. And I can't go through with my original plan of going square dancing tonight and attempting to sell more jewelry while I'm there, because it's going to take everything I've got to finish cooking fucking dinner without letting them see me cry.

Hugs would be gratefully appreciated.