It went all downhill from there.
I needed to do the following things:
- Pick up my altered suit.
- Deposit my money.
- Copy my bank statement to send in my health insurance renewal form.
- Send said health form.
- Finish and file my latest column on the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition, which is officially off of newsstands as of ... um, tonight. OK, I guess it's too late. (By the way, I really did jerk off to it after I got done.)
- Mow the lawn. Don't want to see three weeks' worth of outgrowth when I come back, I agree with Father about that.
- Look at porn.
Because of the column, I didn't get around to mowing until 12:45, even though I wanted to do it earlier in the day, a cooler day than expected, so I would've mowed in very tepid temps. And I got done with both front- and backyard at 2:15, way after I wanted to.
The only place I could sneakread Playboy was 20 miles away. It's probably the last time I'll be able to look at porn -- let alone masturbate; that's why I practiced onanism twice this morning -- for two weeks, so I made it a point to make this long trip, even if I would be coming back in the teeth of afternoon rush.
Going down, I realized something: At 4 o'clock I think I'll be able to check me and my parents in online. I should do that. I realize that at a quarter to three, while I was about to hit the highway. That, along with my free of traffic, made me very cognizant of the time I spend on me porn. But, it is porn. So I spent about half an hour, left at 3:40 -- and promptly spent the next 30 minutes in bumper-to-bumper traffic.
My Fucking Father's bitchy ways -- seriously, he seems to be at his most petulant right before he goes on trips, it's pathological -- were bouncing around in my head and making me crazy. And I had a bunch of shit I had to do, so I was very frazzled. I was computing what else I needed to do, in what order I should do them, and whether I'd be able to get home in time for dinner (and avoid My Fucking Father bitching at me and starting a fight, although I was in such a state that I wouldn't mind joining him in one to see if he would do something so radical as to not go).
What I wanted to do was go online, check in and print out my statement that I need to send to the state, or else I would lose my health insurance. So I go online ... and the fucking modem doesn't work. The Internet light cuts in and out. So what I do is unplug it plug it in my mother's office to "clean it out," then replug it. That always works. But it didn't work this time, for the first time ever. Out of all the times for this trick to not work for the first goddamn time, it'd have to be at a point where I've got shit to do.
I think Grandmother nattering away on the phone has something to do with it. The landline's frequency is on the same ... wavelength (?) as the modem's, so using it has sometimes caused interference. I'm so mad I want to march up there and order to get off the phone. But I can't. She's my Grandmother. She raised me. So I decide to leave and print out my bank statement at the library, which is incredibly unsafe because I'll be checking into private information in public. But I had shit to do.
Well, here is where I made my big mistake. Not not forgetting my library card, which I left on my bed while I was getting my alteration ticket. On my way to the library, I was lamenting that I had put my to-do list in order where depositing my money was the last thing I was going to do. I had mentally planned on doing down the street to do that, even though I could've done that on my way home just now. It'd be a waste of time, especially since I hadn't filled out my health app; I would need to drop it off, then go to the bank. But as long as I have to go to the library, I might as well deposit it up at this branch. But ... is it possible that it could show up on the statement I'll be printing out online? It was worth taking a chance on if it meant saving some time. Besides, I've always wanted to know how quickly a transaction gets posted to your account.
The answer: Almost instantaneous. Almost ten minutes after dropping off the money, I saw my statement, which had my deposit as a pending transaction. Fuck you, Internet. I was so mad that I audibly said, "Goddammit. ..." Even though I had my latest paper statement, I wanted to print it out because it reflected the credit card charge I moved up paying. My smaller checking account would give me a better case for either renewing my health insurance or getting it at the same or smaller premiums. It can't work with this deposit; I mean, what's the fucking use of paying my credit card off now?
So now I have a choice. My paper statement shows I have $6,500. The online statement shows that I have $6,300, the latest of which being a huge deposit. Which one makes me look more eligible for poor people's insurance? Come to think about it, I really don't know. I thought I had to copy my online statement, but even with the depost I only have $100 more. Well, shit; there's a chance I wasted twenty cents copying statements I'm not going to use.
Anyway, as I was leaving the library in a huff, I was bemoaning my Rube Goldberg fate, and mentally plotting ways I could beat the shit out of Grandmother. I wouldn't've ruined my chances of getting health insurance I can afford if I didn't deposit my money first, I wouldn't've been tempted to deposit my money first if I had to stop at the library along the way. If I was able to print out my statement (let alone check in) at home, I would just need to go the mall to pick up my suit. But no, I had to make this extra-special stop because my fucking Grandmother wanted to be a teenage girl with her friend on the phone.
(Oh, another cavalcade of disaster which was this day: Printing out copies meant I had to use cash. I didn't cash today because the only thing I anticipated buying was an iced drink at the coffeeshop, and if it was the only thing, I might as well just charge it and stick to my rule of not taking out my wallet for every single thing every single day. But because I just did for the copies, I might as well pay cash for my iced drink. But what if I didn't have to go to the fucking library at all? Fuck you, Grandmother. And what if I didn't need to use the copies? At this point, I'll have to use the copies because it'd be a tremendous waste not to. Fuck my goddamn life.)
My pissed-offness continued when picking up the suit. I reached into the pocket where I thought I put my ticket in, but I panicked when I didn't feel it, I was at the counter and the employees said hi. At this point I was running red, so all my social graces went out the window. I shouted, to myself although it was loud enough that I wouldn't blame the workers if they thought they were yelling at me, "Shit!!!" They were really nice to me, however; I gave them my name and description of the suit I needed hemmed, and they remembered me and trusted that the striped seersucker suit is the one I was there for.
When I got back to my car, I reached for my phone. Because I'm wearing my high school shorts and they're really tiny and I have tiny pockets, I didn't have any room in them for my cell, so that's why I left it in my car. When I saw my phone, there were pink corners sticking out from my inside my flip. Oh shit, I realized; I put the ticket in my phone for safe-keeping. I'm an idiot.
And then I was driving to the post office to check on how late they're open (so I'd know how much time I have to fill out the health insurance app), I realized I was even more of an idiot. The health insurance renewal form is a big one, and the return envelope isn't usual size but the size of a sheet of paper. I remember that the instructions say that the postage won't be your usual stamp because of it. I would need to go to the post office and see how much exact postage would be. And when I got there, a bit past 5:15, it was a ghost town, the office and the parking lot. Shit, these postal workers have an eye on the clock their whole day and get the fuck out of Dodge once the clock strikes 5. They really are union workers, aren't they?
Anyway, that meant that it was useless to drive around like a chicken with its head cut off because I couldn't complete the task of sending my health insurance form this evening. I really, really didn't want to drive around tomorrow; I just wanted to relax, get my luggage together, and sleep in. Can't do that anymore.
At least the pressure's off. It was further deflated tonight when the modem didn't work after my parents came home and Grandmother was off the phone; so it wasn't Grandmother. I actually unplugged the phone in the same splitter as the modem, and it worked. What the fuck? Anyway, after I was able to connect to the Internet, I still couldn't check in. There's a list of, I guess, U.S. destination cities that one could check in online from, and MSP was not on it. After staying on the phone for a half fucking hour tonight, Air Canada told me I could not check in online because MSP is one of the few United States cities without any Air Canada employees.
Now I'm rallying to finish this blog before midnight because I have yet to blog for the day. And I still haven't gotten around to finishing my packing. I think I've said all I needed to say about this goddamned day.
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