Filed under: College, Late Night | Tags: complaining, Falmouth, future, happiness, moving out, summer, work
-Do I stay up tonight and feel like shit in the morning, or just go to sleep now? This is a problem I have faced every day for the last five years. Anyone who has ever been my age will understand completely.
-Do I write ‘exempt’ on my tax return and get most of the money I earn, or do I write ’1′ and get a nice hefty tax return next Spring? Today I started my second job. I immediately put down ‘exempt’ on my W-2. Why? Well, the whole point of having a second job is for extra dough. I want to spend this money. But only this money. It is a great way to budget, don’t you think? However, I wasn’t expecting to have to fill out another tax form at my job from last summer (Glass Onion.) I mean, they already have my data on file somewhere. Why would I fill it out again? Alas, Josh approached me with all the paperwork I need for taxes and to return to the payroll. So now I am faced with this dilemma– and I have no idea what to do. While forced savings are nice– there is no doubt in my mind that my tax return was anxiously awaited and thoughtlessly spent this Spring– I would like to be able to see all my earnings from the Summer on September 1st, as opposed to waiting. Which is the better choice? I cannot decide.
-Is this something that my parents would approve of? Well, I find whenever I have to ask myself that question (which is less than even I would expect,) the answer is usually “no, they would not.”
-What do I want to do with my life? Perhaps I will ask myself this very question every week of my life until I am 54, but it seems to pop up every hour at the moment. I finally moved out (finally! I’ve talked about it on my blog for years, and I know that you were all as excited as I was when I finally broke the news) and my roommates are… smart. Ambitious. Destined for unbelievable things. And I, I work at a restaurant and schmuck around beaches and walk on sidewalks. A few years ago, I had wild dreams for myself, but now, I am content with finishing a book, or enjoying a day of laying in bed and watching Instant Netflix, or ranting via skype to my best friend (who is at school in Scotland) about nothing in particular– although we especially love to rant about how we don’t envision the same things our parents that had/have in mind for us. I confessed to my roommates that I once had ambition and drive, just like them, but my summers in Falmouth were likely the cause of my sudden… lack of any kind of motivation. They laughed. The only two desires I am certain of are publishing a novel and being happy. Nonetheless, I still don’t know what I want to do with the rest of my life. I am confident that coming to Falmouth for the summer is at least a step in the right direction for the latter goal…
-Am I dying? Sometimes I think that I am. Thankfully, people like Chicken remind me that even Wayne Campbell thought he had mono, and it turned out he was just really bored. I did get one decent beach day in last week, as I meandered Falmouth, seeking entertainment of any kind, and wondering when in God’s name I would finally go back to work again. Ironically enough, once the sun finally came out (though for only a day), I got the call to come back to work for Saturday night. I’ve worked two G.O. shifts and I have doubts about if I would like to work all summer or not… Perhaps this is due to some strife with friends (yup, give me a week, and I will make you hate me. It’s easy,) but at the same time, I question how fabulous it will really be… And I swear, this has nothing to do with the fact that I am picking the spores of portabella mushrooms out from underneath my finger nails.
-What the fuck is in the corner? Well, last week, this question was more along the lines of ‘what the fuck is that sound?’ This house creaks and howls in the wind and makes terrible sounds… all the time. Especially at night. But yesterday I moved from my cozy, awesome upstairs bugalow (which was a little small), to the fantastically spacious, though chilly and slightly frightening basement bedroom. But I have a huge closet, a tv, and plenty of space for chairs and guests and maybe even another mattress for friends to stay. Reed has suggested I enter and exit strictly via bulkhead. Once it’s warm and sunny, I may actually do that. To be honest, that’s the fastest way to the fridge in the kitchen, anyway.
-What will happen if the Bruin’s lose? Possible answers: Rachel’s Dad has a heart attack, swaths of fans riot in the streets of Boston, I cut off my finger with a kitchen knife because I made the mistake of listening to the game on the radio while cooking. (Thankfully, they won Game 2 tonight.)
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