Wednesday, June 21, 2006

Can't Write When I'm Pissed Off

[Posted Tuesday]

So I'm waiting for some city inspectors to come by my house right now, and they're very late. They were supposed to be here this morning, but now it's looking more like 4:30 if at all, and not even a single phone call to tell us what's going on. You know if it were me doing this to them, they'd fine my ass and threaten to slap a Type III Renewal on my head (you don't even want to know what that means).

Welcome to the People's Republic of Portland. They own my home, my land, and my life. Well, not quite that bad, but close. Right now I feel as if they do. Today is/was supposed to be the last day of a tortuous, three-year-long struggle between us and the city over some of the most convoluted and senseless environmental laws you could imagine. Don't even ask me to explain.

Now my partner is starting to get nervous, because he can see that I'm getting pissed off. He keeps reminding me not to say anything unless someone asks me a direct question. Yeah, yeah, yeah. Look at me, I'm a church mouse.

Maybe he'll tell me to go and get some work done in a cafe somewhere and leave him to deal with the city. Nah. He needs me to be here. Besides, I couldn't get any work done today if it would save my sex life. Writing is one of those jobs that you can't fake. On a day like this -- like when your cat gets run over, your brother is arrested for embezzlement, or your best friend calls in tears because he/she just discovered that his/her partner is having an affair -- forget about getting anything done. Not with a creative job.

Maybe I should do something pointless like watch a violent movie. Hey, that gives me an even better idea. I should run down to the rental place and get Doom 3. I've been meaning to try it. After all, add a little hair to that demon on the box cover and he could look exactly like the inspectors from the city.