Same life, new blog post

So those who know me well and talk to me on a somewhat regular basis would certainly laugh and start heckling me if I just suddenly said I am not a grumpy person often. This would, and by all means should happen more if I were to mention how I never curse the world and complain about life or people in my life.

So I will simply not lie. Life has sucked pretty hardcore lately. Therefore, I decided to attempt the reprisal of this blog site that never really was, in hopes of blogging about happy things. Like unicorns, or Netflix Wonder Years marathons, or even dogs shitting on deuschbag neighbors’ lawns.

This however, as already mentioned, is not one of those blogs.

Since last April, I have been working one job. For those who are new to the life of El Barto, for the longest time, I have been a bi-employment person, leading to a life of 70-some-hour work weeks. I was very much used to this life, as I had no life to start out with. This also aided in auditors’ favorite phrase “bill paying.”

Since April I have search and searched. No 2nd or even new profession jumped out at me with a “Hey Bart, come life you life out here. We’re fun.” There weren’t even any who didn’t know how to say those last words.

As I find myself falling deeper and deeper into despair however, I have recently come into more hours and job number uno, which can only make me happy.

Of course, this does not last long, for during the last 3 days, I have been faced with the undeniably even concept of a backed up drain. Now, this is the first time I have come across this in my current location, adding to the list of “Living alone for the first time when you short” difficulties. Now this of course has little to do with being short, but finds its way in easily with not being tall enough to beat the smoke detector down and learning to life in a dark cave like a hermit because the burnt-out light bulb keeps mocking you. I have added to this list over the last 3 years, finding too large a number of reasons I never should have moved out of my parents’ house, only to remember that I can now watch Doctor Who whenever I want.

As the bathtub mocks me on this round, dirty water everywhere, I see nothing getting any worse than this for now. Now comprehending this idea, I decide to run the vacuum over the bath mat in order to dry it a tad— an idea I probably ought to have thought over before attempted as it was. For thought had not come about, the result was that now the area smells like smoke, something I have yet to figure out why. I sprayed Febreeze in the air, hoping to help mask the smell. I mean, come on, stoners do it, lazy college students who don’t shower or wash their clothes do it, why not me? So far, not much, but it has cut down on the smell a tad. Or maybe it’s just life trying to smile down on my without cracking up. It seems even when life DOESN’T look like easy street, danger sill likes to come around to mock you, with the flickering light bulb that only does so when the weeping angels are on television.

I hope to continue blogging, perhaps starting a log of my job application adventures, leaving out anything that could get me in trouble with an employer that might decide they enjoy reading my ramblings.