Dono

I haven’t been back to the donation clinic; I’m still waiting on mail that I can actually use to prove that I don’t live in a cardboard box in some alley around the corner from the donation clinic. However, I once lived in the basement of an apartment that was a few blocks from the clinic. I wasn’t on the lease, so technically you could call that homelessness. I thought of it more as squatting. It was a good three months.

Anyway, the plan keeps changing (why do I even make plans) and I’m not donating plasma right now. The university has kept me pretty busy during my last week of work; I’m not even living up to my new twitter identity: donothingman. The name works, looks kinda funny, but it’s easy to type. If you’re like me, you might also see “dono thing man” when you read the name. I’m not sure “dono” means, if it means anything.

According to the wiktionary, “dono” doesn’t mean much in English, but there are some fun meanings in Spanish, Italian, Latin, and Japanese. Sure, whatever.

Not living up to my new twitter identity is a slight understatement; donothingman is in mortal danger. He tumbled off a cliff yesterday when a friend of mine gave me a lead for an opening at the software company. He said I should send him a resume (for him to forward to HR) and apply online; he works at the company and knows a guy in HR. I did both yesterday afternoon. Being the sap that I am, I’m optimistic whenever such an opportunity presents itself.

I’m a positive person even though I don’t look it on the outside. Looking positive on the outside just creeps people out. The looks stack up if I’m walking through campus in the morning with a smile on my face. What’s he smiling about? Must’ve done something big. Is he smiling at me? What a creep. I can hear it in their stares.

I understand though; there’s not a lot of cause for optimism these days, especially in our economy. Look at me: I’m loosing my job in about a week, going from the-most-money-I’ve-ever-made-in-my-life to no income. People are terrified of that situation, laying awake worried about money, or frantically job searching into the wee hours of the night. Uncertain financial stability. Uncertainty. That’s what haunts people.

There must be something wrong with me, because I am facing the same uncertainty; I’m looking down a tunnel. Some light breaches the tunnel’s opening and I can see the walls on either side and the floor and ceiling below and above me. But the light at the opening pierces only so far. Then only darkness. Maybe something’s there; maybe nothing. In a week I’m going into this tunnel and I’ll be optimistic about it. You won’t see me skipping into the darkness with a creepy smile across my face. I’ll walk right in, ready for something, everything, and nothing.