March 13th, 2008


If I Had A Nickel For Every Time I Was Wrong, I'd Be Broke

It feels like one long endless week since I started working last month. I'm not complaining, but I am. Ostensibly, the job is exactly the same, but for some reason I feel like I had a lot more free time before. From what I can recall, I did a lot more screwing around and got away with it by working hard, working fast. I still work hard and fast, but I don't seem to have the free time I once had.

Maybe it's because I'm no longer there until 5pm every day. Those last three hours that dragged on and on and on have turned into these last two hours that seem to kind of fly by. I know this: I'm not getting any writing done on the job. That's going to blow up in my face somewhere down the line.

I lost an hour over the weekend - much like most of America did - because the farmers need their fucking crops earlier. All I know is, in the morning when I'm running, it's an hour colder than it was a week ago, and that's making for some uncomfortable times. The shoes I got at Nordstrom turned out to be too tight in the width department, so they're going back this weekend.

For any gambling addicts out there, forget about the NCAA tournament, somebody needs to start a pool predicting how long it'll take me before I say, "Fuck it, I'm moving to Seattle NOW." That's not an indictment of living at home; that's sheer disdain for the daily commute. Not only am I too tired to do anything when I get home, but I'm pretty much too unwilling to ever make it up to Seattle when I'm NOT forced to work. After a week full of 12-hour days, the last thing I want to do with my weekend is go BACK up to Seattle. The pragmatist says I should stick it out a year in Tacoma, get my savings good and stocked. The realist in me says I should beat it by the summer. At this point I'm too exhausted to make the effort to predict an early spring, but I'm just saying there comes a point where either you've got mono for a year or you come to the realization that you're just really bored.

Courtesy of Wayne Campbell on that last one.

As the weeks drag on, as I get fatter and fatter from home cooking, as the mornings preserve their perpetual darkness, as the public transportation drones and I doze from county to county, time will pass but it's all the same.