Stuff and Things Part 2: Stormy Weather

Have you ever had one of those truly amazing days? The kind of day that right from the moment you drag your bleary, sleep-encrusted eyes open to burn in the harsh light, every little thing seems to fall in place? Your breakfast is delicious, you hit all the green lights on your way to work, and your whole experience runs as smoothly as a greased up toddler sliding down a hallway?

Well, my day was kind of like that. Except the exact opposite.

The sun shone brightly through my blinds as I opened my eyes, and yet there were clouds dark and stormy hovering over me as I lay in bed. I can't for the life of me tell you why; my sleep was restful and lengthy. I couldn't recall experiencing any annoying or distasteful dreams.

And yet, I was in an atrocious mode.

I wish I could say that I shook it off and went about my day, secure in the knowledge that things would be alright. After all, it was Monday-- the end of my work week-- and soon I would have three days of cool relaxation to look forward to. But not unlike a swarm of fruit flies hovering around an overly ripe banana, the black cloud followed me as I showered, ate breakfast, and left the house to start my work day.

Pictured: Me

Mondays suck. This is common knowledge. Especially at my job, which has a higher than normal level of suck attached to it much of the time. Between answering non-stop phone calls, dealing with demanding doctors and trying to get incompetent techs to do their job in a way that isn't half-assed, you can imagine how exhausting things can be on a good day.

This was not a good day.

I found myself sequestered on the opposite end of the room, safely tucked away from my coworkers. Being the kind individual I am, I didn't want to inflict anyone with my bad mood. Plus the last thing I wanted to do was snap at someone and end up in my bosses office, getting a lecture while restraining my urge to glare spitefully.

I'm pragmatic like that.

Beyond the tedium, which is vexing all on its own, the storm clouds started to rumble with the beginnings of thunder when I got my first good look at my coming paycheck. The last couple of weeks had been productive for me; I had managed to put in 10 hours of overtime-- something I am loath to do-- and had even worked on the 4th of July for that sweet, sweet holiday pay.

Only to find out I my pay amounted to a measly one hundred dollars more than the usual number. My eyes bulged in disbelief. I feverishly scanned the pay stub. Yup, OT and holiday pay are accounted for.  It was then that I realized what the problem was.

Uncle Sam had fucked me. Hard. With a condom made from sandpaper and spite.

"You didn't need this money, right?"

A full 30% of my check had been drained away from taxes, effectively negating any benefits for the overtime I had worked. Now before I go any further, I want to say that I don't mind paying taxes; they're a necessary part of a functioning society. That being said, this is fucking ridiculous. More than $400 leeched away, leaving me in the incredibly uncomfortable position of having no extra money for little luxuries like food or bus fair; I literally have just enough money to pay the rent and my student loans this month. And absolutely nothing else.

Clearly I need take a look at a W-4; as much as I despise paying taxes during tax season, getting a refund isn't worth starving each and every week.

So there I sat, staring furiously at my computer screen, a thunderous scowl no doubt plastered to my face. My mind frantically running numbers, desperate to find a solution to what amounted to 16 days of hunger pangs and sore feet. So of course a work related issue came up, demanding my full attention and jabbing a taunting finger at my inner Hulk, who was doing everything to he could to burst loose.

"Work is Spider-Man, only not nearly as cool"

But with a titanic amount of willpower and restraint, I endured rampage free. The work day ended, and I made like a tree and left.

I have to tell you, I'm truly sick and tired of dealing with these little catastrophes. One after another, disaster springs out of nowhere, doing its best to make my life as difficult as possible. I do my best to weather the storm, but it seems to have a hard-on for me, because I keep getting bent over.

End rant.

Stuff and Things part 1: Moving on Up

Sometimes, life decides to chuckle mockingly at your well laid plans and then alter them. It happens to some people more than others. It happens to me quite a lot.

For instance, the plan today was to venture forth from the relative discomfort of my sweltering apartment, into the soggy heat of the outside world. I was supposed to go take a test so that I could obtain a drivers permit-- because I've finally decided that I should probably learn how to drive like a big boy-- and then go the the sweet, blissfully air conditioned gym to break out in a sweat that doesn't involve the sun trying its best to convert me into a California Raisin.

"We ain't pretty, but we make bank."

Instead, I'm sitting in front of the computer and the only form of exercise I'm doing is lifting a slice of pizza from the plate and into my mouth gullet. My belly hangs over the top of my sweatpants, distended as if I had swallowed a child. The fan sits next to me, blowing enough hot air in my face to make me believe it's going into politics.

I did try to accomplish the relatively simple goals I had set out to do. I truly did. But like the old saying goes: I suck at life and fail at everything.

But hey, it doesn't have to be a total lose, right? If my efforts were going to be foiled by bad timing and poor luck, I could try to salvage it. Maybe I could sit down and write, an activity I've neglected for a couple of months now.

In typical Darren fashion, things have been...interesting. And by that, I mean a bunch of stressful, tiring stuff  came up and threatened to bury me alive. I'll tackle those delightful slices of heavenly goodness one at a time. So let's start with one of the biggies.

The city of Everett and I have parted ways. As much as I enjoyed my stay in that festering heap of broken dreams, I felt that our relationship wasn't working out. Everett is a needy, lying bitch who did its best to drain me of life and suck my soul out of my body. I'd compare it to a dementor, but that would be unjustifiably mean; at least the dementors don't lie about their intentions of making out with you and then eating your vital essence.

"Wanna make out?"

It had been my intention of dropping Everett and moving on with my life in April, when the lease was up. However, as with today, Life saw my plan, let out a hearty bellow of a laugh, and promptly shoved me in a bush like the schoolyard bully he/she is. I found myself without the savings to fund a move, and my roommate was in the process of searching for a house to buy. Thus we collectively decided to extend our stay in the welcoming embrace of Everett, city of shit-holes and ass-hats.

My escape finally commenced a couple of weeks ago. I pack my stuff, bid Everett a jovial FUCK YOU, and moved on from that pusing sore of a city, saying goodbye to the petty crime, tacky graffiti, and moronic people.

My new apartment is in Bothell. So far, the neighborhood is a sweet balm to my ravaged nerves. No longer do I have to stress out about some lowlife stealing my stuff in broad daylight. Gone are the fascinating conversations detailing the best methods of selling meth held between residents of my former apartment complex. And I would be remiss if I didn't include the disgusting spectacle of two morbidly obese residents trying desperately to fuck each other senseless in the courtyard.

Long story short-- too late, I know-- I am positively jubilant at my long awaited escape from what I now affectionately refer to as the Comcast of cities.