While I expressed some elation about the prospects of a life without any obligations last month, the reality is, in fact, pretty uneventful. I’ve started vacating the apartment, slowly moving my vortex of crap to the family van in spurts — a lamp here, a microwave there, the occasional cement block. The entire process is productive but leaves something to be desired in the area of entertainment value.
The job search has begun in earnest, and although I have made a number of phone calls, I am still devoid of leads. This is unfortunate, since the money situation is going downhill. I needs the cashflow to support my elaborate, new-century lifestyle and git the bills payd. The best-case scenario is that a biotech company in the tricounty area will place an order for a trained professional such as myself, and lend me a Ferrari or Maserati or a stretch variant of either of the preceding to get me to and from work.
Exempting that possibility, I’m hoping that the English degree will serve as adequate proof of literacy to allow me to work at, say, the local 7/11.
Either way, I’m goddamned bored, and I need something to do with my time that I can just enjoy while feeling mildly productive. Thinking about finishing up the book on the site, but not really too excited about the prospects of where it’s been going. The webcomic is, unfortunately, out for the immediate future, as is the new recording I’ve been working on, due to lack of supplies and the transition to the new apartment. Pool is just plain too expensive right now.
I know it sounds like complaining, but it’s really just sort of a quandary. Boredom is one of the most totally useless things to write about, because there’s always something you could be doing. On the bright side, this means I’m sick to death of TV, video games and whatever else I’ve been doing the past month of laziness. Plus, look! I’m awake and it’s not even 9 a.m. yet!
The finger is nearly healed after two weeks, and the only remaining evidence is some tenderness and what appears to be a sort of nodule of scar tissue. It forms a sort of bump on my fingertip, as if my hand is half-heartedly trying to reject it from my body but is giving it the Minnesota 12-step goodbye. I will keep you all posted on the adventures of Fingie and Joe The Scar. I know you are all riveted with interest.
