Good morning, Readers!
Image by Jörg Vieli from Pixabay
Well, things have been... a mess of late. Mostly I've been a mess. I don't handle change exceptionally well. I never have. And things here are a-changing. For those of you who aren't in the loop, I'm moving. Not by choice, of course. That whole change thing. But I must move. There's really nothing to do but do the thing.
I knew, of course, that the time to move was coming. But I honestly didn't think it would arrive quite so suddenly, and I desperately hoped that I would be able to move into a place on my own when the time did come. I don't want another flat share. I detest the idea that my world might be thrown into upheaval again should my flatmate decide to up and move away, leaving me with a space I can't afford, and in need of quickly finding either new accommodations or a new flatmate. The very idea makes my stomach turn.
The need to move came suddenly and at the worst possible time. Jobless and in the middle of a pandemic, with so many others job-hunting, I have no choice but to seek a flat share. I can't really afford to live on my own, however desperately I want to. If I had a job, I'd be more inclined to make it happen. But I don't. And with so many folks looking for a job right now, my chances at finding one are pretty slim.
I don't know what I'm going to do in that department, and the lack of stability there is not helping my stomach any.
In truth, I have some regrets there. Perhaps I should have not gone after my impossible dream of being a published author quite so hard. Perhaps I should have moved onto a soul-crushing but well-paying job as soon as possible, and left the dream of being supported by my writing behind. Instead, I went for the job that afforded me the time and space to write, thinking that I'd be fine just scraping by so long as I could chase the writing dream. I imagined that there would be success for me there.
I, I think, greatly overestimated my writing abilities. Perhaps if I were a better writer, I'd be doing much better now. I'd be in my own place, or moving to it, at least.
Anyway, there's nothing for it now. I'm currently hunting for a job that will pay me enough to permit me to live on my own. In the meantime, I have a place to move to, which is a relief, and I have a wonderful network of friends who wouldn't let me end up on the streets, and I get to bring Galahad with me. I need the cuddly monster now more than ever, and I'm so, so grateful I get to keep him in my life.
Actually, he's part of the reason I wanted to move out on my own. A new person in his life, as well as a new location, might stress him out. And even a small garden for him to spend some time outside in would have been nice.
Still, beggars cannot be choosers, and in truth I'm extremely lucky. I'm lucky to be living in Canada, where there are some supports for folks like me; jobs lost because of the pandemic. I'm lucky to have the friends I do, who are wonderful and kind and have been brilliant supports.
And I tried. When I am on death's door, I can say that at least I tried to make my dreams happen. I might be regretting it a bit now, but perhaps when I look back, I'll be feeling a little better about it.
I'm not writing right now, obviously. I'm not painting or drawing either. Those will resume, yes, even though I don't think I'll make it anymore, probably before the year is out. They will be taking a back seat to my job hunting, and then my job, once I'm moved and settled and find work, but I don't think I could ever stop fully.
And if I get a well-paying job, I'll be on the lookout for a place that will be my own forever. No more moving. No relying on others for affordable living arrangements, no background anxiety that my living arrangements will be thrown into chaos by someone else. Just me and the cat.
Honestly, I'm well aware that moving is not a big deal for a lot of folks. I don't handle it well at all; particularly when I'll be moving in with a virtual stranger (though they do seem lovely). I'm not good with change, and big changes like this are particularly difficult for me. Since receiving the news of the need to move, I've been battling a pretty severe bout of depression. Luckily, having been diagnosed now, and with the experience of a few key therapy sessions, I can recognise what's happening and take steps to contain it. It's not the confusing, life-threatening thing it was before. I often wonder if I'm somewhere on the spectrum. Things that seem like a small thing for some people are almost insurmountable for me. Or maybe I'm particularly maladapted. Who knows?
But, there's really nothing for it. I've gotta do what I've gotta do.
I should warn you that as I make the transition to the new place, my presence both here and elsewhere online might become spotty. Don't fret. I'll be back once I've moved and settled in. And who knows, maybe I'll be able to blog continually through the whole process.
And that has been my week or so to date. It'll get better from here.
Ciao.
I knew, of course, that the time to move was coming. But I honestly didn't think it would arrive quite so suddenly, and I desperately hoped that I would be able to move into a place on my own when the time did come. I don't want another flat share. I detest the idea that my world might be thrown into upheaval again should my flatmate decide to up and move away, leaving me with a space I can't afford, and in need of quickly finding either new accommodations or a new flatmate. The very idea makes my stomach turn.
The need to move came suddenly and at the worst possible time. Jobless and in the middle of a pandemic, with so many others job-hunting, I have no choice but to seek a flat share. I can't really afford to live on my own, however desperately I want to. If I had a job, I'd be more inclined to make it happen. But I don't. And with so many folks looking for a job right now, my chances at finding one are pretty slim.
I don't know what I'm going to do in that department, and the lack of stability there is not helping my stomach any.
In truth, I have some regrets there. Perhaps I should have not gone after my impossible dream of being a published author quite so hard. Perhaps I should have moved onto a soul-crushing but well-paying job as soon as possible, and left the dream of being supported by my writing behind. Instead, I went for the job that afforded me the time and space to write, thinking that I'd be fine just scraping by so long as I could chase the writing dream. I imagined that there would be success for me there.
I, I think, greatly overestimated my writing abilities. Perhaps if I were a better writer, I'd be doing much better now. I'd be in my own place, or moving to it, at least.
Anyway, there's nothing for it now. I'm currently hunting for a job that will pay me enough to permit me to live on my own. In the meantime, I have a place to move to, which is a relief, and I have a wonderful network of friends who wouldn't let me end up on the streets, and I get to bring Galahad with me. I need the cuddly monster now more than ever, and I'm so, so grateful I get to keep him in my life.
Actually, he's part of the reason I wanted to move out on my own. A new person in his life, as well as a new location, might stress him out. And even a small garden for him to spend some time outside in would have been nice.
Still, beggars cannot be choosers, and in truth I'm extremely lucky. I'm lucky to be living in Canada, where there are some supports for folks like me; jobs lost because of the pandemic. I'm lucky to have the friends I do, who are wonderful and kind and have been brilliant supports.
And I tried. When I am on death's door, I can say that at least I tried to make my dreams happen. I might be regretting it a bit now, but perhaps when I look back, I'll be feeling a little better about it.
I'm not writing right now, obviously. I'm not painting or drawing either. Those will resume, yes, even though I don't think I'll make it anymore, probably before the year is out. They will be taking a back seat to my job hunting, and then my job, once I'm moved and settled and find work, but I don't think I could ever stop fully.
And if I get a well-paying job, I'll be on the lookout for a place that will be my own forever. No more moving. No relying on others for affordable living arrangements, no background anxiety that my living arrangements will be thrown into chaos by someone else. Just me and the cat.
Honestly, I'm well aware that moving is not a big deal for a lot of folks. I don't handle it well at all; particularly when I'll be moving in with a virtual stranger (though they do seem lovely). I'm not good with change, and big changes like this are particularly difficult for me. Since receiving the news of the need to move, I've been battling a pretty severe bout of depression. Luckily, having been diagnosed now, and with the experience of a few key therapy sessions, I can recognise what's happening and take steps to contain it. It's not the confusing, life-threatening thing it was before. I often wonder if I'm somewhere on the spectrum. Things that seem like a small thing for some people are almost insurmountable for me. Or maybe I'm particularly maladapted. Who knows?
But, there's really nothing for it. I've gotta do what I've gotta do.
I should warn you that as I make the transition to the new place, my presence both here and elsewhere online might become spotty. Don't fret. I'll be back once I've moved and settled in. And who knows, maybe I'll be able to blog continually through the whole process.
And that has been my week or so to date. It'll get better from here.
Ciao.
RSS Feed