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.
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| 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.
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| "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.
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| "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.
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