I'm bad at paperwork. The thing with being bad at paperwork is that there's always evidence. Piles of it - stuffed into drawers and cupboards - demands, reminders, requests, citations - all sorts really. It builds and builds. Sometimes it catches you.
I was meant to be in court yesterday. Unpaid road tax fines or some such disaster. What with moving twice in the last 6 months and a true cowardice when it comes to officially postmarked letters, I'd just let things slip. I panicked. A sense of despair and doom lingered for awhile. Beer didn't taste as good as it should. I wondered what I was going to do.
The court notice had a number to phone - a direct line. It daunted me. It was just a phone number. I could phone and claim my total ineptitude. I had images of someone on the other end of the line, bored and vindictive, listening to me squirm, throwing my pride away and begging for a stay of execution, waiting for my last gasp of an apology before telling me I could turn myself into Fife Constabulary immediately. Do not pass GO. Do not collect £200.
I phoned with trepidation, after running out of excuses not to. No one bored or vindictive answered. A nice lady let me pay over the phone and the crisis was averted. No court appearance and no warrants for my arrest.
I've got two jobs at the moment, and they're overlapping a bit more often than I'd like. 9-5 followed by 6-12 doesn't leave much room for anything else. Once again I'm living on espressos and wondering what I felt like going a whole day without caffeine. It's a mystery. It's also a bit weird - when you work that much, you forget you get paid for it because you don't have any time to spend what you've earned. It's a nice surprise to find money in the bank (or wallet) at the end of it all.
Until the paperwork rears its ugly head and spends it all.
On the plus side, there are strong signs that both jobs are to fall to the wayside in favour of something better. Right - time for caffeine.