pant, pant, pant

Although my friends here know I'm dumping my house, only two know I'm dumping Pittsburgh entirely. I simply don't want to have the conversation. I love this town, but it's a bad fit, and the thought of explaining that to the natives does not appeal. I don't want to shit on their town. They're justly proud to be from here. It's just not for me.

A month after I mailed all those 2016 tax payments, yesterday I mailed six more for Q1 2017. One of them was for $14. "I'd pay up to $32 not to have to write that check," I thought. And that's when it hit me. I found the perfect way to explain my discomfort here: everyday life in Pittsburgh is exhausting.

Things I used to do without breaking a sweat are laborious now. Taxes are so labor-intensive, my accountant fees have quadrupled. I have to nag people to take my money. This includes the accountant. I have to pester people to answer emails. Driving is harder. Finding someone to paint my window trim and not my screens is harder. Having dinner with friends at an agreed upon hour is harder. Going a day without something in my house breaking at my touch is nigh-on-impossible.

I'm spent.

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