I'm having a few of those days where I'm pretty sure I'm terrible at life. I'm also quite sure that it's the government's fault. You see, I recently got a new accountant who specializes in expat taxes, and he's making me adult and do things like input my expenses into some nifty accounting software. I don't know why he doesn't appreciate all the hard work I usually do with a highlighter and a box of receipts.
Accountant claims that it will save me time and money in the future, but I feel about the same way as I did when I reluctantly switched from my super cool Motorola Razr flip phone to an iPhone. I didn't get a smart phone until late 2009, a full two years after the iPhone was released. I didn't want anyone to call me. I didn't want anyone to text me. I just wanted to be able to play Snake on the subway and maybe throw the phone against the wall after an infuriating conversation. Those things never broke. Not from brute force, anyway. Eventually the Razr died because I loved it too much and seven years later I'm stuck with this magical brick that can both save me from imminent death and also yell at me if I accidentally do something stupid on Twitter.
This is basically what my accounting software does as well. It yells at me for my dumbass, drunken mistakes and reminds me of all the bad dates I went on in 2016. I actually went on a date in an arcade in 2016. Half the games were broken and they didn't even have Mario. And beers cost $7. And I don't remember his name. We did not go on a second date.
This software also makes it very clear how much money went in in 2016 and how much went out in 2016. I imagine this is the point of accounting software for most people, but I already know that I'm way in the red for 2016 because you know, I decided to quit my job and travel around the world. So, going through my expenses is basically one giant reminder that shit got weird this year and that I still don't have a plan. The thought of all of this put me into a semi-comatose state. My body got tingly and heavy, my chest tightened up, and I spent about an hour having a silent, low level panic attack while melted into this weird couch bench thing at the Remote Year workspace. I figured it was safer to remain immobilized in public rather than go back to my apartment, because balling in private tends to open up some destructive tendencies. At least in public, I have to keep my pants on, and that kind of keeps one panted leg in the door of reality.
Meanwhile, I've eaten all my feelings in dried figs from the downtown market today, so at least I'm full of fiber. Also, Andy Samberg is was on my pizza box. It cost 15 kuna for the figs and 60 kuna for the pizza. Anyone who says you can't put a price on life experience is full of lies.