Friday, August 27, 2004

Picking Up the Noodle, Part III

Sunday morning I woke up intending to review my finances and ensure I had enough money for the upcoming school year. In case you haven't guessed, I'm just not good at personal finance stuff. I never have been. Add to that an occasionally problematic spending compulsion, and you've got a recipe for one fucked up financial situation. I keep it mostly under control, but Sunday was going to be a tune-up; the first really thorough one I've done since moving here.

I have two checking accounts: one left over from Edwardsville, and one I opened here in Laramie. My summer job paid room and board and an hourly rate (not much of an hourly rate, but who's whining). Now, I vaguely remember telling the bank employee that I'd be employed by UW. I also vaguely remember her telling me that for UW employees, the bank had a special direct deposit thing set up. I remember these things now. I didn't remember these things Sunday morning.

So Sunday morning, I started looking for my most recent paycheck. Couldn't find it. Tore the room apart; couldn't find it. I remembered seeing it over at Downey Hall when I worked a desk shift there, but I couldn't find that fucker for the life of me. Losing a paycheck is right up there with driving the wrong way on a one-way street and putting your shirt on backwards in my book: only idiots do it. Because only idiots do it, I'm allowed to call myself names when I do it myself.

People who write tend to be really good at berating themselves. You call yourself amazing names you'd never dream of calling others.

So I'd lost a paycheck, which sent me into a highly articulate self-loathing rage. RA training has been pretty exhausting if not overwhelming. My printer has been fucked for weeks, which meant buying a new one, which meant spending money. I was dreading buying books (for good reason, as you'll soon see), because that meant spending more money. My fellow RA and I had yet to finish "door decorations," which amount to nothing more than a resident's name creatively attached to their door. Then again, we're on an all male floor, so really we were only decorating for their mothers. But I digress.

Long story short, things just weren't going my way. On top of that, I was feeling pressure to let people know how I was doing. And really, when you ask someone how they're doing, most of the time you don't really want to know. Sunday's post, as depressing as it sounded, was nothing more than the truth.

Sorry if it scared anyone.

The paycheck was direct-deposited, and the pay stub showed up in the mail Monday. I'm still stressed as hell about this semester and all the little things that have gone, could go, or are going wrong, but mostly things are back under control. Consider the noodle picked up.

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