Pickles & Dimes

So I am seeing the light at the end of the tunnel with my horrific work project, the one that has me checking the Powerball numbers with my fingers crossed and concocting elaborate job-quitting scenarios, none of which involve giving two weeks’ notice. I realize I cannot quite accurately convey how gross and mind-screwing this job project is without giving away pertinent details, but let’s try this analogy.

Let’s say you have to file your taxes, right? It’s kind of a pain, but you have the correct forms and only one W-2, so it’s annoying, but you set aside the time and do it.

OK. Now imagine filing your taxes 18 times, only with the following differences:
- Instead of having only one W-2 the second time, you have two W-2’s, so it takes a little longer.
- For the 3rd time, you have three W-2s, plus you lived in two different states.
- For the 4th time, you have 11 W-2s, you lived in five different states plus a stint overseas, you received unemployment, started your own business, sold your house for a loss, had a baby, claimed some gambling losses, donated your car, owned farmland, and installed windows in your new home for an energy credit. Repeat until your head explodes.
- And while you’re trying to file your 18 different tax returns, you get constantly interrupted by people who seem compelled to give you additional forms to fill out just because they have glimpsed your face.

Anyway.

Jason’s employer is hosting a 5K next weekend, so we’re doing that before our first “official” 5K in June. We both ran 3.1 miles yesterday, into a damp mist and blustery wind gusts, and during the first mile, I was extremely crabby, to the point where I thought Jason was running past the turnaround point and I almost shouted at him at the top of my (severely limited) lungs, “WHAT ARE YOU DOING!??!?!?!?!?!?” before I realized he was turning around. (Also, my iPod froze as I was putting it on so I had to leave it at home and listen only to my huffing, gasping, wheezing breathing.) During mile 2, I was questioning how the wind managed to be blowing so that I was running into it no matter which direction I was going, so by the time mile 3 came up, I was convinced that my time was going to suck. But mile 3 was delightfully easy; I was hardly breathing hard at all, I lengthened my stride and increased my speed, and I came in with my best time so far. So apparently it takes two miles for my body to realize, “Hey, I guess she’s serious,” and calms down. Dumb. Also, during one whole entire block I smelled cologne. Either I was having a stroke, someone broke a bottle of something, or there’s some gigolo in my neighborhood keeping the woman at bay with his cologne-drenched suaveness.