Have you ever done something for so long that you forget what you’re doing?
Like the other day, I was counting some money and it was a decent wad of cash. And by decent I mean I was scared to be counting that amount of money and kept giving looks to the shady cars around me.
And by that I mean it was a lot of money. An effing lot.
I won’t tell you how much because then I’ll be skeptical at how maybe you’ll just be my friend because of my ridiculous amount of money.
But the joke is on you because it wasn’t my money. So ha!
Anyway, I was counting this large amount of money and I was counting for so long that I kind of forgot what I was doing.
I knew I was counting money and I knew that I was putting them into groups but after a while I started to go into a daze.
My mind wasn’t really focusing but I guess my subconscious because it was still putting the money into groups of five.
And the thing was, a few seconds after I went into my daze I thought, “NO! I HAVE TO FOCUS!”
And now I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking, “Wow, you think to yourself in caps?”
And the answer to that is, yes I do.
1. There are too many things cluttered in my brain and if I don’t think in caps my thoughts will never be found.
2. Because if I don’t think to myself in caps I don’t listen.
3. I just think it’s fun to think in caps.
Omf. I just turned this into a Choose Your Own Adventure thing!
I used to love reading those. The Goosebumps books. I would always cheat though. I would pick one thing, turn to the page but keep my finger on the other, just in case. I would always end up dying so I would turn back and try again.
Okay, so if you chose the first one go to page 1.
If you chose the second one go to page 2.
If you chose the third one go to page 3.
Page 1: Although I do have a lot of things in my mind, I’m pretty sure I would be to hear my thoughts. It’s not some sort of maze in there. Actually, I see my mind look like the place in the Halloweentown movies where if things get lost, they end up there.
[This is sort of what my room looks like at the moment. But with more things and a smaller room.]
But don’t lose anything there because then it will be lost forever. That’s kind of what my room feels like, too. Now go to page 7.
Page 2: This one is true sometimes. Sometimes I don’t want to listen to myself. Go to page 7.
Page 3: This one is correct. NO, REALLY. IT IS. WATCH! YOU’RE READING THIS AND YOU’RE SCREAMING IN YOUR HEAD AREN’T YOU? NO? WELL, YOU SHOULD BE. LOSER. NOW GO TO PAGE 7.
Page 7: Rock falls. Everyone dies.
So here I am, counting money, or at least my subconsious is, and the more I tell myself that I need to focus, the more I think of other things.
Which, how stupid is that? I’m not even listening to myself. I understand not listening to other people tell but to not listen to myself? That’s a big “Eff you.” from my brain, I think.
It’s sort of like it’s telling me. “Ha ha. I’m going to think of an old song you used to like but forgot about and I’m not even going to let you remember the title to it. It’s going to bother you for days. Aren’t I hilarious?”
No, bitch. You’re not.
And I can’t even think of something gross or disturbing like accidentally drinking out of the cup my aunt keeps her dentures in at night to get back at it because then we both lose.
Wait. What was I writing about?
So I finally focused and counted the money.
The boss then put all of the money in the canister thing and let me just say that we had to cram all of the money in it and it almost didn’t close. A few more bills and we would’ve had to use a rubberband to keep it closed.
So the money shoots up the tube and we wait.
Then the lady comes over the intercom saying that we can’t deposit that much money through the drive-thru. That was have to come in.
We asked the guy if there was a limit and he said no.
WHAT THE HELL, GUY? WHY DO YOU EVEN WORK THERE IF YOU DON’T KNOW WHAT THE FUCK YOU’RE TALKING ABOUT?
We just spent a good fifteen minutes counting out the money so we wouldn’t have to leave the comfort of our nice warm truck. So we wouldn’t have to face the cold, unforgiving wind of Chicago.
Fuck you, guy.
Moral of the story: Don’t trust guys at the bank. They lie to you. Maybe they don’t even work there. Maybe they’re just pretending to so they can steal your money when you leave.
(No, but really, make sure they work there because that would suck.)
Also, once we deposited the money and weren’t carrying around the money, the cars and the people in them didn’t seem so shady anymore. I would’ve felt bad if I hadn’t been too busy shivering my face off walking to the car.