OK, we both know I’m not as smart as I pretend to be. But, I have my moments. Last night, in order to preserve my own life, I made use of two large fans that I strategically placed in my apartment to create an air flow between the downstairs and upstairs. Because, my girly roommates get cold and turn on the heat and only the upstairs gets hot. So they turn up the heat more, and the upstairs gets even hotter. Basically, I’m wearing next to nothing and I’m struggling to stay alive, as I sweat out the entire volume of water in my body, while they’re shivering under blankets just below me. So, as the fans circulated the air last night, I was able to sleep without fearing my demise and with an almost normal room temperature. I presume they were still cold. But that’s not important, this was a self preservation mission, we’ll worry about the others later, or not at all.

I’m sure they’ll figure out how to survive in the harsh conditions of our apartment in winter. They could, just as an example, get space heaters. Or switch rooms with me, which would probably be an ideal. One of these days they might come home and walk into a room that they thought was theirs except my stuff will be in there. Shocked, they’ll run up stairs to find their stuff. Assuming their heads do not explode, an argument would ensue, which I would win because let’s face it - they’re now in a warm room and they’re too lazy to switch things back. No doubt I’m the one that’s too lazy, because I can’t imagine a world where I’d do all of that work when I could just sleep on the couch downstairs.

Look at that alliteration! I was about to add more words with M’s into that title but decided against it. That would have gone from understandably cheesy to over-the-top trying-too-hard-cheesy. But just know, I was thinking about it. And I’m not ashamed. Anyway. Over the course of working in a building, for the past 3 months, that requires an ID badge to be swiped upon entry I have, as you may have guessed, forgotten to bring my badge quite a few times. Luckily they simply hold on to your driver’s license and give you a temporary badge for the day, or I’d be taking sick or vacation days left and right. Why take the day off? Who would commute the hour to work, then go right back home, and still have the willpower to go back in? No one. Not even you. Don’t kid yourself, you know you’d call your boss from the base of the building and be like, “Yo. I’m outside, but I’m really sick. And I don’t want you to get sick. I think I’m gonna go home. Peace.” (I had to do that when I worked at the airport and forgot my badge. HAD to, there was no choice. I got back home and found my badge, but my bed beckoned me. It’s like it tricked me into coming back home. My bed is jealous; it doesn’t want me spending time away from it.)

Having the temporary badge all day is no big deal, except I can’t take the stairs because you have to swipe to go up and down. They make things complicated for people that aren’t lazy, I guess if they had a quota to reach and had to decide where to stick the “security checkpoints” they would put them in the path of people who aren’t lazy rather than force the lazy elevator takers to swipe a badge. That would be too complex for them. Did I just call lazy-elevator-taking-people stupid by accident? I think I may have. My bad. I didn’t mean to make judgments on your intelligence, as you wait for an elevator to go up one or two floors. Maybe you’re just trying to waste time, that makes it ok, I guess?

It’s easy to make an argument when you have the facts and you’ve done your research, unless you’re arguing with my roommate Himal. You can’t win an argument with Himal by using useless things like “logic” or “reasoning.” He’s the perfect example of someone who can make a logic-less argument. Allow me to go in to this further, it’s not like you’re going anywhere anyway. Himal’s tactics for arguing are to repeat the same point over and over again, getting louder and louder, until you have no choice except to end the argument before he picks up the nearest blunt object and starts swinging. Never in my life have I seen someone with such a disregard for another person’s opinion. Something as simple as putting beer in the refrigerator could set him off into a frenzy of threats on your life. Who knew that wanting cold beer to be there for you after a long day at work would lead to a Himal-anger-eruption. Yes, it’s like a volcano. There’s the initial blast, where he expresses his rage through words, and as you try to explain that cold beer tastes better than warm beer, he gets louder, starts to cut you off, and smothers you with mindless rants.

“Himal..”

“NO, THERE’S NO ROOM IN HERE, WHAT IF I WANT TO BUY SOMETHING AND PUT IT IN HERE.”

“But, the beer..”

“WHAT IF I BUY SOMETHING TOMORROW THERE WILL BE NO ROOM”

“We just went to the store”

“YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND”

“I don’t.”

“YOU’RE STUPID”

“The fridge is full because we just went to the store and I like my beer cold so I put it in the fridge”

“I CAN’T EVEN TALK TO YOU RIGHT NOW”

I made a huge mistake and scheduled an eye exam for 9am on my day off. I must have been thinking that it needed to be early because it was a week day, or something equally ridiculous. I guess the worst part about it was that I had entirely forgotten about it, the only reminder buried in my wallet, and a scheduled alarm in my phone. Well, the alarm went off, which made me pretty angry. Waking me up at 8 on my day off, who does this alarm think it is? "Eye Appt." on my phone's LCD screen, slapped me in the face.

"AhhhgggghHhHh” (followed by more unintelligible groaning).

That's got to be the worst way to start your day off. Regretfully, I got up. I made it to the appointment on time and went through the routine checkup questions, "You haven't had a checkup in 5 years? …I see." It was fun. The doctor repeatedly exclaimed how large my pupils were and how she didn't need to dilate them, so I could hop over and get contacts during this visit. So I did. Really-Super-Big contacts. Apparently I have huge irises as well.

After getting my large contacts, the doctor sat me down with a serious look on her face. "David. You have (insert some weird bacteria name, which I can't remember, here). It blocks your tear ducts and dries out your eyes. You'll need to gently rub shampoo into your eyes three times a week to clear it out." Great. I always thought I just wasn't the crying type, because I'm super-manly and not emotional. But apparently it's because I have some not-dangerous tear-duct-blocking bacteria in my eyes. And to solve this problem I have to put shampoo in my eyes. Even baby shampoo crushes my eyes. My poor, scared eyes didn't take that news very well. But, this morning I held my eyes down and prodded them with a shampoo covered cloth. And the burning commenced. It's basically a self inflicted torture for the apparent greater good, assuming the doctor isn't at home laughing, knowing that I'm jamming shampoo into my eyes.

Last weekend, while taking a break from web development I decided that it would be a good idea to restart my computer. Keywords there being “would be” and “good idea.” As it turns out, it was a bad idea. My computer didn’t come back on. Well, OK, it turned on and then went to a blue screen, of DEATH. Generally, the first time something like this happens you simply press reset, cross your fingers, pray, and peer at the screen while holding one hand over your eyes like you’re watching a scary movie. I must have forgotten to do one of those standard things, because after the second, third, fourth, oh-my-gawd-please-work-5th restart, I was still being greeted by the vibrant blue screen.

Two hours later, my laptop showed signs of a virus. The signs became obnoxious billboards. Then the billboards mutated into something scary and ate my hard drive, as well as my heart. I did the only thing I could do. I entered a period of mourning on the couch hugging a pillow and crying hysterically. OK, maybe it wasn’t that extreme, but this computer stuff is serious business to me. Take away my job, hobby, and outlet for wasting time - all at once? I’m left muttering ridiculous things and using dumdums as pacifiers as I stare blankly at the ceiling, hoping the mutated-billboard-virus turns out to be a benevolent ruler.

Eventually, in defeat, I erased everything. Monday I was able to fix the blue screen issue with my computer by spending $200. So, two hundred dollars and a broken heart later, things are back to normal. Except now I’m overwhelmed with depression because of the lost information on my laptop hard drive. There’s only one thing I can think of that will put an end to this depression. Sushi anyone?

People keep asking me, "What's different about the West coast?" in relation to the East coast, that is. I say things like, "People are so much friendlier here! And it's beautiful; more various terrains. And NO HUMIDITY! But also no lightening bugs." I go on about the physical differences forever. There are more breathtaking sights here. The air is fresher. Country untouched by smoke and oil or grease is not out of reach. Land raped by steam and metal and brick is within. Whichever's more your thing.

But I only say that one line about the people. Because I can't figure out what the difference is. But I think I just did.

People from the Northeast coast of the United States (from Washington DC up to Boston, I think) are like a puzzle that wants to be solved. They want you to slowly fit the pieces together, going over each one carefully before finding where it belongs in the picture. They think it's important that you do this to see how everything is connected, and that it all has its place. They live by the fact that the human being, at very least the brain and therefor life, is a very complex thing, and that is a positive to them. They want to be complex, so that if one thing fails, there is something else to occupy them and hold them together until time heals the wound; something else to keep them sane and happy. And if anyone can actually put the whole puzzle together, which is both a challenge and an honor, and see it for what it is, what it wants to be and what it stands for the way they want you to see it; and you find that you love it through this clear and extremely vulnerable view - you will then find happy and permanent admittance to their lives.

You went to sleep early last night, but you’re still tired this morning. Unusually tired. You reset your alarm so you can sleep for an extra 30 minutes. As if that’s ever helped. When you rise to start your day you’re disorientated. You can’t find your glasses. Oh well, you’ll deal with that later. You jump in the shower and start your routine. Programmed to maneuver and operate with eyes closed, you feel for the shampoo. It slides through your finger tips and lands on your toe. But there is no registration of the pain that you should be feeling. Not to mention, you lack the energy to react to the pain, had you felt it. At that moment you realize the day is going to be abnormal.

You’re not hungry but you manage to eat breakfast. You drink a Red Bull, your first smile of the day. You drive to the metro, blinking quickly to keep your eyes attentive and to stay awake. You sing along to the song blasting through the speakers, your first words of the day, muffled, broken, and raspy. You clear your throat and give your first words a second chance. You arrive at the metro and abandon your car for a crowded electric train. You pray they have the air conditioning in your train car maxed. You take a seat and turn up the volume on your mp3 player; loud enough to keep you awake but not so much as to annoy those beside you. You zone out. The train pulls into a transfer station; you switch trains; you zone back out.

I had an epiphany about an hour ago, which led me to Walmart where I purchased a bag of 300 dumdums for $6. Now that I’m back, eating dumdum after dumdum, I’m trying to figure out what triggered this epiphany. I heard a voice that said, “You really need to get a lollipop right now.” And I listened to that voice. My journey began. I dashed down the four flights of stairs, hopped in the car, and about 10 minutes later the mission was complete and I returned home; I was pretty excited when I got back to my place with the giant bag of delicious teeth-destroying madness.

It wasn’t until I reached into the bag and pulled out the first of many dumdums that my hopes and dreams were shattered. Banana. Seriously, artificial banana flavor? I forced myself to eat it. I lasted through every last bit of that nasty fake-banana hell. And then I got pink-lemonade. Things sure have changed since I was a kid. What happened to orange, grape, and watermelon? Did I buy the wrong stuff? I’d like to just have a bag of 300 orange flavored dumdums. Why do I have to suffer through flavors like bubblegum, cream soda, the ambiguous “mystery flavor,” and coconut-pineapple. Well, I’m actually eating coconut-pineapple right now and it’s exceptional. But that doesn’t excuse them from screwing up the other flavors in the lab and then labeling them “mystery flavor.” That doesn’t make flavors like banana acceptable.

So, as you know, I’ve been back at work for 6 weeks or so and I’ve fallen back into that normal routine. Wake up, get caffeine, go to work, get caffeine, eat lunch and make sure to drink something large, bubbly, and full of caffeine, crash around 2pm, suck it up till I go home, fall asleep on the couch, wake up and eat dinner, think about everything I should be doing for an hour or so, and then jump in the bed and fall asleep. That’s the life. Except now I’ve started a business. So sitting around and thinking about doing something instead of actually doing it has more consequences than just not doing anything. Especially since my ultimate goal is to work from home full-time. My house is like some sort of anti-work zone. Just ask anyone who’s been there. You try and accomplish something when there are 10 other more interesting things that can be done using little to no brain power.

Judging by my personality I’m pretty sure I was built for management. I work hard in small bursts and I’m great at knowing what needs to be done. Just not actually doing it. That part is best left for someone else. Not working for myself all the time is starting to get bothersome. While I’m at work, doing my job actually bothers me. Sure, it makes my day go about 5 times faster when I’m working. But when I’m not working I can just stare at my computer and think about all the wonderful things that I’ll be doing when my business takes off and I can work from home. Just as an example, I could have a few beers with lunch! Now doesn’t that sound exciting? There would be nothing to stop me, except that meeting at 1pm with a client that requires some driving. We’ll worry about that later.

Everything, everywhere, looks so comfortable. Is it because I’m so tired? Today I found myself wanting to use a Kleenex box as a pillow. (At least there is something soft on the inside?) Maybe I’m just delusional, but the space under my desk, on top of all of those cords, looks like it could fit a person easily. I got 8 hours of sleep last night too. What’s wrong with me?

Maybe they should study me while I sleep, and see what goes on. And I could get paid for it. I know you’re thinking, “Gee Dave, I’ve never thought of that.” Well guess what. I hope someone punches you in the face in the next few minutes. Grumpy? Who’s grumpy?

I’m tired. I can’t be held accountable for saying things (that I hope happen) when I’m tired. Normally my brain would stop such a negatively directed comment from leaving my thoughts. (I’d still think it though.) And I hope you’re not thinking, “But Dave, what if someone actually did punch me in the face? You’d feel terrible right?” Haha. No. I’d only hope a third person was hiding in the background with a video camera so I could catch the action on YouTube. Preferably, the video would start at the exact moment you decided to be a smart-allick-snob and then got punched in the face.

Anyway, if you weren’t thinking any of that, then I’m sorry. I’m just tired. And trapped in some sort of time paradox. How is it that the last 15 minutes of work feels longer than my hour commute home? How can I sleep 8 hours and feel like I’ve been awake for 36 after I wake up? Am I having really epic dreams? Maybe I should read some articles about sleep and see what I can come up with. It doesn’t make too much sense. I mean, I’ve been sleeping my whole life. You’d think I’d be good at it by now.