Thursday February 19, 2009

10:00 AM alarm goes off. Work at 11. This is all getting a little too routine. I get up, take a leak, get some coffee and let my awakening settle in. I cruise into the bathroom for my morning shower and somewhere between shampooing my hair and washing my face, I contemplate taking a sick day. Then I remember that a sick day is probably the last thing I need from a financial stand point. I get out of the shower, curse myself for being poor and resume getting ready for work.

I try to leave a little earlier for work so I have time to stop by the bank and make a deposit before my account gets over-drafted. Unfortunately, I don't leave in enough time so I am faced with the crossroads option: hit up the bank and be late for work, but ultimately save money OR just head into work and call the bank in hopes that they have mercy on my broke ass and take back the thirty-five dollar overdraft fee that they will slap me with.

For some fucked up reason that will forever run through my mind, I chose to be on time to work. I don't know what spawned that asinine decision, but I curse myself for making it. I decide to skip the bank and head straight into work. I'm on time today, but I'm so pissed at myself that it doesn't even make me feel good when I am acknowledged by my manager and co-workers for being on time. I hang my head low as I walk into the back room and prepare myself for the arduous shift ahead.

Work goes as well as it can, which isn't that well. I shoot a call over to the bank to explain to them what happened and to throw myself on their mercy. The girl tells me that the overdraft fee has not been posted yet and will not be until tomorrow. She tells me that until the fee is posted, they can not reverse it and I have to call back tomorrow. Not exactly good news, but it's not bad either. I'm just pretty much still in the same spot: financially fucked with the possibility of redemption.

We are dead at work, so I shoot a call over to my Dad to chat for awhile. We both bitch about work and money like a couple of typical nine to fivers just trying to make an honest buck and support themselves (or in his case, himself and family) with considerably less money than it actually takes. Welcome to reality. At least I'm not rich and an asshole that no one wants to be around (although I'm considering envy for them, even if I would become one of the biggest cock stains on the planet).

I finish the rest of my shift. I'm fuckin' starving, craving a cigarette, dying for an alcoholic beverage of any kind and so utterly livid that I can't have any of the above mentioned luxuries. Fuck my life.

I bomb out of the Bou at 5:00 and head straight over to the bank to make my deposit. It's all I can do until tomorrow. I rock out to some 311 on the ride home (for some much needed positive vibes) and try to make it home as quickly as possible without running out of gas (I don't exactly have a way to put more gas in my car, so I have to rely on sheer faith that my car makes it all the way home). It does make the trip (only by the time I pull into the parking lot, I'm running on fumes). I head inside for a much needed glass of scotch.

I rip off my work clothes and change into my comfy pants. I pull out my bottle of Johnnie Walker and a glass from my drawer and take a little piece of heaven after the first sip. I sit down in my office to check my e-mail and update the diary.

About halfway through the glass of scotch, my stomach starts to get a little pissed off (I haven't eaten all day). I head into the kitchen and cook myself up a shit load of chicken strips, compliments of B-Dubs (Tool was nice enough to jack a hefty amount of frozen food from the freezer at work). I throw them in the oven and head back to my room to finish previous projects (I decide that this was a good opportunity to reset the power strip so my t.v. could work). I do so and my t.v. finally powers up. My first sense of accomplishment all day.

My chicken finishes cooking and I inhale the entire plate in less than twenty minutes. I pour myself another glass of scotch (half glass this time) and chill out in front of my t.v. for awhile.

Tool gets home from work around 10:30 and V follows him inside. I'm already feeling pretty toasty from my scotch consuming so I'm not really in the mood to do much more than just pass out in front of the tube. But I cruise out to the living room to say what up and chat for a little bit.

Shimon shows up not too long after and they prepare themselves for late-night festivities. I decide that this is as good a time as ever to just go and pass out because they aren't going to even know I'm sitting at the table twenty minutes from now anyway. I bid everyone farewell and cruise back into my room. I do the nightly routine and throw on Die Hard with a Vengeance to continue watching while I fall asleep.