Saturday, October 15, 2016

The Inconveniences of Terrestrial Meteorology

Well, what a time for a dying typhoon to careen into the Pacific Northwest! The reason I say this is because I can't go out and make any money canning when it's raining steadily hard enough to soak through my tattered shoes; not to mention that my North Face® jacket has long ago lost its waterproofing. And, well, I don't have any ski pants, either — living indoors has encouraged me to grow complacent, and so I'm not equipped for rain, nor am I for the inevitable chill that should seep in by the end of November.

Which means I'm going to have to wear plastic bags around my feet on the rainy days until I find or can afford to buy a new pair of shoes, though not until tomorrow or Monday, since this weather isn't encouraging people to meander the streets whilst quaffing electrolyte water and Italian sodas. Yes, I do regret the job not having worked out, especially now that I'm going to have to can up about $110 by the tenth of November in order to keep my electricity running and my phone service. At least I was smart enough to get a new phone and service, so that I'm better able to effectively look for work.

Not that I have high expectations of a fruitful job search; the only thing that will probably be going on will be holiday temp work, which I'm reluctant to even consider. Besides, I need to get my new state ID, anyway. And, of course, when I went down to Transition Projects for help I was rebuffed with a requirement for specific documents verifying yes, I am indeed a broke-ass mofo, that of course I don't have. I'll be back Tuesday laden with small ream of papers for them to choke on, I assure you — if I can't afford to pay my utilities I can't afford to pay for the ID card.

It may be time for me to try flying a sign again, at least on the days I can't or won't go canning. Maybe someone will offer me a job? lol Maybe one that doesn't suck? Do those things even exist anymore? I don't even know people with degrees and résumés that enjoy their jobs, save for vapid corporate drones whose sole purpose in life is to work out and Botox their way into being Zeus' cup-bearer whilst watching reality TV and engaging in such riveting erudition as the shortcomings of this year's Seahawks' defense and whether or not that cute skinny-jean barista boy is single.

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