I've been playing nursemaid for my mother this week after she had some minor knee surgery. I don't mind doing it. In fact, I'd gladly be her nurse for the next 23 years; then we'd be about even.

Today's been slow. I'm kind of bored, but there are several things keeping me from going out tonight.

Number one; it's cold. It's just the right temperature to make you ask yourself, "How much can I accomplish without taking off this blanket?" The temperature in the house is infamously low, so I'm getting a very small taste of what it's like outside. I'll stay inside under my moose blanket, thank you very much.

Number two; I'm sick. Whoa! Stop the presses! Jon's sick! How unusual. Fortunately, I think I've managed to isolate the offender. Dairy products. I've been monitoring my diet for several days now, and any entry that says "milk" is usually followed by "horrible cramps and nausea." In fact, the only time this week that I was sick without milk was after watching League of Extrodinary Gentlemen. What can I say, Sean Connery gave me gas.

Number three; I'm in New Hampshire. The question of going out or not becomes kind of moot when the only reason to go out in the first place is to rent a movie or pick up a bucket of KFC.

Thank god I brought my Nintendo.

So while I’m kind of on layover here in my apartment, I rented the “The Sims: Bustin’ Out.” I began by creating a character based on myself. And, surprise surprise, he’s a complete bum. You have to remind him, like, eight times to go to work. Sure, he’s friendly and he cleans up after himself, but he’d rather unclog the toilet than go to work. I guess I can sympathize. I assume he’s self-employed too.

I’ve already moved him from his mother’s house, to the house of his friend Mimi (who was a complete spaz), and now to the Goth estate. Pretty nice place, but the room they gave me was all stone walls with a simple bed and two crates. It’s not like they didn’t know I was coming, we’ve been friends for a while. I’m sure that in my bizarre Sim babble I might have mentioned that I was going to be moving in as the next natural step in the game. Maybe they could have saved the money they used to buy the stupid synthesizer and sprung for a little wallpaper. Of course, without the synthesizer there would be nothing to do but sit in the wooden chairs and stare at the “art.”

And then I come to find out Bella and Mortimer Goth are not actually sleeping in the same bed. It’s like they had some huge fight before I showed up and now when I go to sleep Mortimer stands over me with an “Are you done with the bed yet?” look on his face.

And they both go to work, but they don’t bring any money back! I can only imagine that they whore themselves out and use the money to score crack before they even get home!

But I digress. It really is a nice place, and once I save some money up, I got my eye on that deluxe robotic espresso maker. And maybe some more pink flamingos.

Today was my last day of work and I had every intention of begining the moving process tomorrow and continuing it casually through the next week until my last day in this appartment on January 31st.

When I got home there was a message on the answering machine. Boston University. I had interviewed there for a graphic design position about two weeks ago. I was so certain back then that I wasn't what they wanted. Apparently I was wrong because they want a second interview.

So now, after I've resigned myself to moving, quit my job, and started to pack up to move back to New Hampshire, I learn I'm a prime candidate for this position as well as another job in Newton.

I guess I should stay. It's going to cost me the remainder of my savings, but I should stay and follow up on these jobs. I don't even know if I can design anymore, I've had this horrible "designer's block" for months now. I've been producing nothing but crap lately, and I know it. Maybe it's just burnout from not knowing if I'd still be employed week after week.

But what are my options? Go back to NH? The graphic design market there doesn't exist. If I went back there I'd most likely wind up doing something else. I'm OK with that, but would I be passing up these golden opportunities just because I didn't think I was good enough as a designer? I mean, it's what I went to school for.

And if I get the job, what then? Will I actually make enough to start saving money instead of living paycheck to paycheck, or will I be in the same boat, only with medical benefits this time? And do I want to keep living on my own? It's expensive, but more importantly, it's lonely. I haven't exactly made new friends around here, except for my upstairs neighbors and they're vibrating things. I miss my NH friends.

Stay and pay? Go home and save? Missed opportunties? Better jobs? More money? My friends?

Fuck, fuck, fuck,fuck,fuck,fuck,fuck.

As I wind up the last few days of this legendary "Self-Employed," stint, I'm taking advantage of, "Being my own boss."

Namely, I'm taking some well deserved vacation time. Mostly in the mornings. This morning I took a two hour vacation and went into work at 11:00. Of course, this isn't paid vacation. When you're self-employed, "paid vacation" is the same as "falsifying your timesheet." I am happy to say that I have not, nor will I ever, take a paid vacation while being self-employed.

I've also elected mysef as "Employee of the Month." I'm still trying to think of perks for this. So far I'm just sleeping and eating more.

Fortunately, I'm not in the middle of any daunting projects. I believe I am being slowly phased out (by "slowly," I mean they started in September), and I hardly have any reason to show up in the first place. I'm really just tying up loose ends.

So I've made the decision to move home. This job just isn't working out. Frankly, it hasn't been working out for over a year and a half, but I've managed to stay with it. That says a lot about my resolve. It also goes a long way to explain my stress-related bowel disorders.

I don't see it as a step backwards, just a step sideways. A pit stop in the race of life. A bathroom break for the bladder of... um... ?

My main goal is to build up some savings. Living on my own is one thing (rent, utilities), but add to that paying for my own health insurance, frequent repairs to the crapmobile, and a seemingly random payment schedule, I have nothing to show for stashed cash.

Once I've got a little money, some of my friends and I plan to move in together. Multiple tenants = a fraction of the rent + a fraction of the utilities = happy happy Jon. Of course, in addition to the savings, living together makes it much easier to schedule a Mario Kart tournament.

Man oh man, I really don't know why I didn't think of this sooner.

In the spirit of Amityville, last night my walls dripped with a bodily fluid.

It started just past midnight. I was watching TV when I noticed a dripping sound. I followed the sound to my bathroom and found the walls and ceiling near the door dripping wet. I didnt' know quite what to do. I ran out and knocked on my upstairs neighbor's door. When he answered I said, "Is your bathroom flooding?"

What he told me was the next worst thing to, "The pipes have burst! Run for your life!" He said, "Oh yea, sorry, our toilet backed up."

Toliet. My walls were dripping with Pee Pee water.

They managed to fix the problem and I was left to clean up my bathroom. I found myself wondering what the proper amount of sanitation was for such an accident. The towel I had originally thrown on the floor to soak up the "Water," was most likely going to end up in the garbage. I wiped down the walls with a wet cloth and then some Clorox disinfectant wipes, same with the surrounding area. I mopped the floor and decided that was as much as I could do. The next step would be to forget what had just happened.

Today I got brain freeze just from standing outside.

Well, not standing exactly. I was walking slowly because my joints were frozen. I was like the tin man, yelling feebly for oil.

I was going to an interview in Boston. Boston is usually warmer than the surrounding area because of the sea breeze, but today was not the case. Today it was one great big brass monkey.

I, of course, neglected to wear my goffy-ass wool cap. I was just as concerned with not looking stupid as I was with not messing up my hair. It’s a good idea not to go into an interview looking like you just walked out of the lightning room of the Museum of Science.

So I found a parking space, got out of my car, and I was hit with a wall of cold. I had only made it a few steps when my brain was seething with the pain I had, before today, only associated with eating ice cream too fast.

In retrospect, I would have suffered any hair ruffling over the absolute agony of being bareheaded in sub-arctic temperature with high speed winds. When I finally reached the building after a long walk from my car (it is Boston after all), my brain felt like a slushy.

I was supposed to ask the security guard to direct me to the Robinson building. What I managed to do was stumble towards him (my eyeballs were frozen over), and let out a semi coherent sentence despite wind-blasted lips and no small amount of frozen snot blocking all my passages. He seemed to understand what I said, which is cool because all I could remember saying was, “Awaag ooof bin wop.”

This wasn’t colder than any other winter in New England, but today was just about as bad as it gets. It’s not that I never expected it to be this cold, but in getting all gussied up, I had neglected to wear anything warm. At least I knew that if I froze to death in mid-stride, I’d make a good looking statue.

Me: “Hello?…… Hello?…”
Them: “Hello, Jonathan.”
“Um… yea, hi. Who’s this?”
“This is Rob from the American Veterans Association.”
“Oh.”
“How are you this evening, sir?”
“I’ve been better.”
“I’m calling in regards to the blah blah blah yakkity smackity, and we were hoping that you would be willing to make a donation.”
“But, I’ve already….”
“We can send the form out to you right away and if you can send it back to us within three weeks that would be great.”
“No, I mean I’ve already donated.”
“That’s not possible, we’ve just started this drive this morning.”
“I made a donation to the American Veterans Association in November.”
“Well, this is the 2004 fundraiser.”
“… but, it’s January 6th.”
“Can we count on you for a donation, sir?”
“Um… look, I’ve already contributed, money is tight right now, I really can’t give anything.”
“We can send you the form and you can think it over for three weeks before making your donation of as little as $25.”
“Alright, fine, whatever.”
“Excellent, thank you for your sacrifice. I’m going to transfer you to our mailing department so we can verify your address… NICOLE, PICK UP THE PHONE!”
Them: “Hello, I’m Nicole, can I verify that your address is XXXXXX”
Me: “Um, yea.”
“And how much are you planning to donate.”
“Well, I told the other guy that I really can’t afford much of anything. In fact, I’ve changed my mind, I really can’t donate anything right now.”
“We can put you down for 25 dollars.”
“Look, I really can’t…”
“Twenty.”
“I’m not bidding here, I just can’t do it right now.”
“It’s tax deductible.”
“Oh for… alright, just send the paperwork.”
“Alright, we’ll be sending you the bill for $25 and you have a nice day. CLICK”
“Fuck heads.”

A new awkwardness has bloomed between myself and my upstairs neighbors. As usual, I’m probably the only one who thinks it’s awkward. Let me explain.

I suppose my main concern about my vibrating apartment was that it might be something more serious, like leaky pipes or an explosion-ready boiler. I didn't assume anything dirty, but I guess in the back of my mind I was thinking that it was something I shouldn't ask about. In the heat of disturbedness I went out in the hall and listened. There was definitely a machine running upstairs. I was still worried, so I took a deep breath and knocked on the door.

For the record, we in this building are not door knockers. We come and go according to our own schedules and we pretty much leave each other alone. Knocking the young couple's door felt like an invasion.

The man from upstairs, whose name I won’t use, answered.

I said, “Hi, um… I’ve got a silly question, is your apartment shaking?” This was the best way I could phrase it. I felt that it wasn’t really shaking, but vibrating. However, I could not think of a way to use the word “vibrating” without implying something.

“Oh, sorry I was trying out a new machine.”

Ah, that was it! It wasn’t anything serious, he was just trying out… a new… machine? My concern was replaced by curiosity, but fortunately, not enough to pursue the question any further. In fact, I REALLY didn’t want to know any more. I launched into a flurry of words just to keep him from thinking that he had to say any more.

Note: Read these next few lines very fast to hear how it sounded when I said it:
“Oh, that’s it I was worried it was the pipes or the boiler I went down stairs and checked but I couldn’t feel it down there so I just ignored it for a while but I got really worried that it might be something serious you can just keep doing what you’re doing it really wasn’t very disturbing I just wanted to be sure it wasn’t the pipes or something OK thanks bye.”

I decided to leave it at that, and not to speculate it any further.

Tonight, while taking out my garbage, I ran into him again.

He said, “So was it really bad?”

Me. “Oh no, I just wanted to be sure it wasn’t anything serious.”

“It’s on wheels, I wonder if it might be better if I took those off and padded it.”

“Oh, you don’t even have to do that, I just wanted to be sure it wasn’t the pipes or the boiler. You can just keep doing what you’re doing.” (can you believe I actually said that?)

Was he being vague intentionally? I’m sure if I asked him, he’d tell me what it was... but maybe he was trying to avoid saying it. Maybe it's a rotor rooter and I was feeling all awkward over nothing, as usual.

Having a few days off this week is kind of nice. Of course, as usual I'm not being paid for having a few days off, that's not so nice. It's like going on vacation and getting fired at the same time.

I'm having a very difficult time accepting this freelance bullshit, even after all this time. I honestly cannot imagine how having "Creative Freedom," makes up for not having medical benefits, holidays, paid vacation, and workers comp. I need a real job badly.

And my apartment is vibrating again. For about 30 seconds at a time, then it's quiet for a few mintues, then it shakes again. I cannot even fathom what device my neighbors may be using. Even if I had a dirty mind, I couldn't accept that a dildo existed that could shake my pots and pans from that distance. That would be the kind of device you'd end up misusing, and it would take the doctors two hours just to get the smile off your face.

Of course, even if I didn't have a dirty mind, what would I say? "Hi, I'm the tenant from downstairs, could you stop... vibrating... up here?"

GOD DAMNIT! It's shaking again. It's like a fucking helicopter going by!