Well, I'm hanging on by my fingernails!I'm coming up to the end of three weeks in the new job and it's going OK thus far. In fact, it was going brilliantly until yesterday.
The difficulty I'm having isn't with the job itself though, it's with my sleep schedule. I've been trying to enforce a new routine, changing the nights I get up to hedonistic things, and trying to make sure I eat properly. However, I would say that for the entire first week or so in the new job, there was barely one morning when I actually had time to think before I rushed out the door to the subway. The rest of the days I woke with only sufficient time to get myself out the house with clean teeth and underwear. Breakfast became a distant memory and for the first time in a long time life felt like a bit of a whirlwind. Yesterday the cursed insomnia got the better of me. I woke at 10.30am, which is precisely the time that I was supposed to be at the store, starting my shift.
I've already had to tell one whopper (flat tyre) to cover up for the struggle I'm having. Yesterday though, there was just no hiding it and I got reprimanded for timekeeping, or a lack thereof. There was a time when I'd have pleaded insanity, divulged everything about my illnesses, and thrown myself at the mercy of my employer. No more though - I'm beyond that point and trying to keep such information on a need-to-know basis, certainly with my employer anyway. I still feel that me divulging such details to a colleague at DDB, followed by the MD trying to cosy up to me/fish for verbal confirmation helped lead to my departure. Of course, I'll never know for sure. The great thing about being told, "You're not a good fit for the organisation anymore..." is that it's so vague and tenuous that it's impossible to prove or disprove in an industrial tribunal. That's probably why shit managers of people, and HR 'professionals' with zero conscience use the phrase.
Aside from the days that I've slept in, and consequently been paranoid I smell because I didn't get time to shower in the morning, the feedback I've had thus far has been strongly positive. Most notably I've already received verbal and written commendations for enthusiasm, committment, superior customer service, and creativity - which is more like the 'real' me. I still feel like I'm papering over the cracks though! LOL
Anyway, if you're a regular reader then you'll know what a significant step the job is. It's the basis for all else, the rent-covering job that'll allow me to indulge myself in writing and DJing without going bankrupt. I'd like to move out too but these first few weeks have been pretty tough so I found I had to ease back on the apartment hunting because I wasn't leaving myself enough time to eat or sleep properly. I've seen two places thus far, both significantly cheaper than here, but I missed one 'cos I was well-down in the pecking order, and there's no way my furniture would fit through the doorway of the second place. Yes, I could cut my mattress, sofa, and DJ table in half with a circular saw but then I'd have just ruined about $6k of furniture. It's a shame, because the people renting the place were really cool.
The good thing is that the fact that I missed both places hasn't got me down. Indeed, at the very start of the process when I started to dig through Craig's List for anything studio or one-bedroom @ less than $850 per month I accepted that some places would look great, but I wouldn't get them. This may be another indicator of recovery - I'm almost blase about it. I guess the more important point is that there ARE places in Toronto available for less than $850 per month, which gives me hope because rent is my largest outgoing. Potentially, I could save up to $3,000 per annum if I can find the right place at the right price.
The reason for moving out is that (a) I've never lived alone, and (b) it feels like the appropriate next-step in my recovery. When I first moved into my current place it was great that I was never nagged to tidy up, clean, or do anything at all. That was a year ago though. Now the general untidiness irks me on a daily basis, as do the numerous idiosyncrasies of this run-down and unloved home. There's barely enough water pressure to take a shower. A painting project started in April has been in stasis since then, so half the downstairs is covered in masking tape and there's a pile of paint cans, brushes, and other painting accoutrement that blocks the way to the cloakroom. One of the few flat surfaces in the lounge is currently home to a pile of half-eaten fast food and all its packaging, which will now stay there for a minimum of four days unless I clear it up first. If I try to use the toaster and the microwave at the same time, it causes a fuse to blow and plunges the kitchen, dining room, and entire basement into darkness. As a result, it once took me more than an hour to make an omelette sandwich. The garage lock has been broken since I moved in so my bike could be stolen at any point. The lock on the back door doesn't work properly and I still don't have a key for it anyway. The window blinds have a tendency to fall on you when you pull the string (it's happened to me three times now) and, of course, there was also the time when my door jammed and I got trapped in my bedroom until the landlord/housemate came home from basketball and used a drill to dismantle the doorknob.
That would've been fun if there'd been a fire.
There are more factors at play too but I don't want this entry to just be a big list of moans and groans. Talking of moaning and groaning, the only area I haven't covered is my love life but there's little change there. I've been corresponding with the invisible woman again, who appears to be on the road to recovery too. It's good to hear from her, and better to see her gradually returning to her usual self. It still frustrates me that I can't do more for her but it's beyond my power to control.
Anyway, I'm off to find an old-fashioned alarm clock with the bells on top. That should help with the timekeeping...
