Back for Now

I knew I would never stay away forever, but though I have nearly written a blog a couple dozen times, I always stopped part way through it. I guess I just wasn't ready. I even started to try to write pre-break-up blogs, because there were some memories I wanted to write down before I forgot them...because I will forget them, beyond vague imagery and the powerful feelings left behind (I always remember how I felt about something more than the event itself), but they never quite materialized, though I did get quite a bit way through the midnight possum hunt Beau and I had. I'll finish that at some point.

The other reason I didn't post was that my very first job -- that great one I began with such promise and hope -- my first Kiwi position, ended unbelievably horribly, and except for several hyperbolic moments in Bangkok, can easily be said to be the worst work experience of my life (Montana couldn't even compete). And knowing how my work experiences in the past few years have been less than fortunate, I grew tired of once again getting into the whole story -- of explaining why and how. But I can't resist explaining...just a little bit.

I started working at a health clinic as the clinic manager, and entered the job with gusto. Two of my co-workers were great people, and the psychologists there were all friendly and welcoming -- one was even a gregarious American. But the boss turned out to be a complete and total psycho control freak. It started nearly the moment I arrived, though I couldn't really know at the time, when she walked me around the clinic and instructed me just how EXACT the pillows had to be placed on each couch, how I had to straighten up and throw away papers on the shrinks' desks (touch their shit?), how I had to use THIS pad of paper to take notes, and never use that one, etc. I mentally shrugged at the time -- big deal, I can do that -- but didn't know that the woman's control went farther than how many rolls of toilet paper I had in the cabinet or what kind of shirt I was wearing (yes, she critiqued how I dress).

Let's just say, for only the second time in my life (see my Roadhouse experience here), I walked out on a job. Oh, I stayed that last night and tied up EVERY SINGLE loose end, as well as leaving long, type-written notes for everyone in there who might be affected by my departure. Still, it was awful, despite the fact that my leaving was a mutual decision. That day, 2 psychologists came up and hugged me and said, "You're doing the right thing to get out of here." (One has since left, the other only worked one day a week and was already finding it trying).

Since I left in June, 3 psychologists and 4 other staff members have left and I hear that 2 psychologists are now grumbling and another staff person is considering leaving. That's 7 people in 3 months. Oh, and the place was thousands and thousands of dollars in debt when I got there, and the bank was ONLY paying out our salaries, but nothing more, so every time toner ran out or the copy machine stopped working, it was a major disaster. Not to mention that every day I had to field calls from a slew of justifiably angry bill collectors who hadn't been paid for 3-4 months and had had enough.

One good thing came out of it -- I made a fantastic friend there, one I really have a lot in common with. She has since quit (naturally), and we meet up when we can and always have a great time together. So, I guess it wasn't all bad.

That was my introduction to the workforce, and it was rather demoralizing. All the while, I had rent to pay, electricity, which is WAY beyond what I ever paid in the U.S., and all the other usual stuff to keep you alive. My salary at the clinic was a good one, and I figured it wouldn't be long before I found another job and could settle in again.

Shit, I was wrong.

And of course, I was also dealing with the crumbling of my marriage, which had left me with a deep ache alternating between sharp pains and a burning sensation which emanated from my chest and spread outwards. I walked around half-zombie, half mental patient, feeling so fragile, and constantly fighting off the urge to burst out into ugly sobbing at any given moment. Those are the days where you can't imagine getting through the day and you think the pain will never subside enough for you to lead a normal life. But it does, slowly.

I went through a myriad of things during this time, some of it was actually good, for though part of me was wounded and part of me was enraged, another part of me was full of love and wonder, and I used that to keep myself afloat and to clean out some of the cobwebs in my head.

Anyway, now I'm here, in Auckland, still. I really love Auckland -- all the perks of a big city with all the beauty and tranquility of a suburb. What I didn't quite realize was that in this recession (yes, here too), a foreigner with a simple work permit is of no use to a company who is already laying off workers AND who also has to prove to the government that there isn't a single other Kiwi who could do the same job - not easy when your skills lay in the un-skilled realm of administration. As soon as it was learned that I didn't have permanent residency, backs were turned. Still, I applied eagerly -- 30 jobs in about two weeks.

Nothing. Zippo.

I registered with temp agencies. EIGHT of them. Finally, work started trickling in. I worked for the government doing data entry. That was fine, and had some interesting people. I did mock interviews for big corporate company, which was fine as well. Then most recently I got a position with one of the universities, hooray(!), for a whole month to cover a receptionist on leave (you can do that here in New Zealand, go on leave for a month). Everyone in the department was super nice, and the month flew by. The wages sucked (after paying rent and bills, I was down to about $70 NZD/week for food, gas, parking and anything else), but it was just such a wonderful place to be in after my awful clinic manager experience. My last day at the department was this past Friday, and I was sad to say goodbye. They were just the kind of people you love to work with -- kind, funny, close, cat lovers.

And tomorrow I start another assignment, also at the university, though in a different department on a different campus. It's another clerical job with a big emphasis on typing. That's fine. At this point, until I get my permanent residency (hopefully, sometime in October), there isn't much I can do but just keep treading water.

And that hasn't been all my own doing. Part of my staying afloat has to do with my landlord, who lives on the property and has been completely understanding and kind. Many times my rent was late, real late, and he was always fine with it. He said, "I'll never come over and demand the rent. Please, don't worry about anything." Wow...wonderful.

But the truth is, it's really Beau that has thrown me a life preserver (or two). There were a few weeks in between my leaving the health clinic and finding any kind of steady work, and during those lean times it was his paycheck that kept my heat on (it was still winter) and food in my belly. And here it is, about 4 months later, and he hasn't had one paycheck that I haven't pilfered in one way or another. I am now at the point where I am caught up on rent, electricity, and internet bills (yeah, as poor as I am, you don't go without internet unless you want to find my cold, dead, bored body), but I'm still unable to make it completely unsubsidized. It's pathetic, but it's getting better.

I did have one hiccup. One day, out of the blue (after biting an olive with a pit inside), my front tooth came off. Yeah, broke right off. Okay, it wasn't like my real-real tooth, it was one of those veneer things. But it was RIGHT IN THE FRONT!. The NEXT day I had an interview for a REAL job at the university for gobs of money. How can I go in there like a fucking hick? I panicked, but did find a dentist on a Sunday and promised him sex and my first born child to fix it. He did stun me when I pulled out a wad of damp bills and said, "I only have $90, can I give you $50?" and then proceeded to say, No, he was going to take the whole $90. Bastard. An hour later I left with a new tooth and a bill for $650 (minus the $90).

Oh, and as for the job interview, they said they loved me, I was their #2 pick, but they picked someone else cause they'd already worked with her before. GODDAMMIT.

And as for Beau and I. I don't know. We don't know. We had a few good, long talks on the phone, and then we downloaded Skype and talk quite a bit every day. We've visited each other several times, and as usual with Beau, it's always been a great time. I love being around him, always have, that hasn't changed. I love him. But, things are different now. I want it to be better, and frankly, I'm willing to do quite a lot for it, but there are things that have to happen first.

I feel like I've been gone (from him, our dog, and our gorgeous place in the bush) forever, and some things about that have been really good for me, and some things have just sucked. I'm not in intense pain anymore, though I still have my moments. I'm just trying to live my life, which frankly, feels a bit in limbo right now. Without a husband, but not divorced, without a real job, but still working, without any kind of citizenship, but living as a lifetime Kiwi. I'm trying to be patient until these are all resolved.

And I'm not a patient kind of girl.