…bygones

I got my rejection letter today.

I really had high hopes that it was sewn up. I was very confident, maybe even too confident. But it wasn’t meant to be, either because I wasn’t a right fit for the company, or perhaps they had seen someone who had a bit more experience than me.

In any case, I’ve spent the day convincing myself that I didn’t really want the job anyway, that the company is full of fools and that there is a better job out there which is more suited to me.

So, a day of moping and looking like my poor hyacinth here; and tomorrow, I’ll get back on the horse, come out with guns blazing and ride victorious. And maybe from now on, I’ll not use so many metaphors in one post.

But no promises.

I had a second interview on Wednesday, where they told me they would be letting people know by the end of the week. After obsessively checking my email all day yesterday, today I woke up with a giddy, lightness in my stomach; the feeling of Christmas day.

Despite my hangover, I scrurried to my computer in the lounge, my bare feet padding on the hardwood floor. I anxiously waited for my browser to heat up, and….

nothing.

So, I took a picture of my clock instead. To remind me what time it was when I decided that I’d better write a blog entry now instead of after I hear, because, who knows, maybe I won’t get the job, and then it’ll be another week until you hear from me.

I want you all to know that I’ve finally updated my links. yes, they look the same (aside from my unceremoniously deleting my own bebo link), but some of them were broken and as in the case of poor Angela, whose link was broken for an entire year. Yes. I’m that lazy.

Sorrysorrysorry.

In other news (or lack thereof), I’m still unemployed to a certain extent. I’ve been remployed at the theatre for the time being, and even though it cannot possibly sustain me on a full-time basis; it’s fun, I get to hang out with my old friend, and it’s easy money.

The interesting thing is that, for the first time ever I get to go on tour with the production and, much to my delight, Kev gets to stay home. Finally! I get my own back! Sorry, honey, I’ll be back in a couple days!

Kev and I, as a way of saying ‘thank you’ have been having our friends over, two-by-two, for dinner. We’ve always loved giving dinner parties; something about it is so civilised. We bring out the dining room table (or extend it, really, as it’s always out), cover it with my grandmother’s table cloth, candlesticks to create ambiance, and sit in the bay window of our lounge.

Wine, laughter, good friends and hopefully good wine. We fill up on yummy goodness that Kev and I have cooked up, and then ‘retire’ to the other half of the lounge after dinner for more wine, then coffee.

See? It’s all very civilised, and dare I say, ‘middle-class’.

Last night we had two more guests for dinner, who brought their baby labrador puppy, who was, I must say, very well behaved considering her age. She’s scared shitless of the cats though, and Miles, who, by all accounts has always been a bit of a coward, properly launched himself, fur spiked and bristling, at this intruder.

I had to say I was very surprised at Miles, but rather than chastising him for attacking a guest (even a puppy-guest), we simply put him in the other room and then thanked him later for trying to protect us and his house.

Dizzy, on the other hand, remained invisible until the offending creature had gone home for the night.

I expected the pair of them to be angry at us for letting a furry guest into our house, and terrorizing them thus, however, Miles looked at me with relief, as though he was content in knowing that the danger was gone and that we were safe.

Good little guard cat. This is just one of the many instances where I am convinced that Miles is actually a dog in a cat suit.

…and we’re back!

After a very dramatic New Year’s Eve, where, at Moosie’s house, Kev started to check his email and I said, ‘Can I check mine quick? I’m sure I didn’t get an email from the Home Office about the Visa, but I kinda have a funny feeling in my tummy…’

The ‘funny feeling’ in my tummy was actually right. I got my Visa!

So, we partied pretty hard that night, and felt like road kill the following day. But it was all worth it.

I finally made my way home, criss-crossing flights with Kev (we never made it onto the same flight, but did land within four hours of each other…bizarre).

The kitties were very happy to have me home, but more likely it was more due to the fact that I was a human, than that I was me. Miles jumped into my arms when I came in the door and nuzzled me with his head. Again, I think it was because he thought I was there to feed him (which I did).

After so much time away, everything seemed so different, yet the same. I wandered around the flat, feeling like I was in someone else’s place, rather than my own. It took a couple of days for that feeling to wear off, and now I am comfortable again in my home.

As far as the job goes; I didn’t really want to go back to the pub when I came home. I’d had a lot of time to think when I was in America, and working in a pub didn’t really suit my lifestyle anymore. It had been a comfortable means of income while it lasted, but it hit me that it wasn’t a career, and certainly wasn’t a career I’d envisioned for myself. I vowed to apply for jobs immediately.

As it turned out, my bosses (after playing a very childish game of, ‘You need to talk to the other boss’ and then not returning my phone calls), had filled my full-time position at the pub. After playing their game for about a week, I’d already clocked on to the fact. I met with Boss2 last Friday and he broke the news, apologetically offering me part-time hours in the first pub I’d worked in.

I gracefully declined stating that I couldn’t survive on part-time hours alone, the fact that it was a step-down from my previous position as manager, and that, even though I’d loved that pub while I had been there, I wasn’t prepared to go back.

I think he expected me to put up more of a fight, but really, as I’d already made up my mind to leave, his meagre offer only made it easier for me to leave.

So, for the first time in, I dunno how many years, I am unemployed. While it’s true that I am stressed out about money, and bored of staying home, Kevin is quite enjoying coming home from work to a spotless flat, and dinner on the table.

I’m such a little housewife.

He asked me the other day; if he made enough money for me to not have to work, if I’d like staying home all the time. My response was that I liked my independance, and also, I figured that this contentedness with cooking and cleaning all the time would get very old in about a week.

Anyhow, I’ve been applying for jobs left and right; anything that will keep me out of a pub (or a McDonalds (not to say that McDonalds is a bad place to work)), and I’ve been getting frustrated. It’s not necessarily frustration at not getting a job, but more having to do with the fact that nobody seems to send rejection letters anymore. They just never respond.

I composed an email in my head today, to a publishing firm to where I had high hopes and dreams of being employed, saying that if they didn’t think I was right for the job, they could at least email me and tell me, and then, it would be helpful, to let me know why they thought I wasn’t right for the job, so that I could have the opportunity to improve either my experience, or my CV-writing abilities.

Alas, I’ve since inhaled-exhaled and let it go. Their loss.

Another two jobs I’ve applied for today, and upon advice from ClairePepper, have composed a more substantial covering letter; listing my strengths and reasons why I’m the right choice.

It’s amusing to me how much like a politician one has to be these days just to earn a few quid.

First, an announcement: Kevin’s coming over for Christmas!! He’ll be here tomorrow night! So let’s all keep our fingers crossed that the weather isn’t so bad that his flight can’t land. (we’re expecting a snowstorm tomorrow.).

And now, on with our regularly scheduled programming….

Now that I know Kev’s coming over, I’ve got a more positive outlook on things; and have been listing in my head the good things about being here. Here are some, in no particular order:

• I get to drive.
• I get to see my best friend every weekend and spend time with the girls.
• My niece recognises me.
• Shopping with Mom like we used to do.
• Lots of baking.
• I get to see the newest episodes of everything on TV, like Greys Anatomy, and the Mentalist (and have recently discovered an affinity for a show called ‘Castle’, which is pretty cool.)
• Knit, knit, knit! Am a knitting maniac lately.
• Time with my parents.
• Every time I go out to buy cigarettes, I get ID’ed. (The smoking age is 18). That feels pretty good.
• Taco Bell, Wendy’s and Amigos
• Hersheys
• Netties (my favourite restaurant)
• Crab Rangoon at the chinese restaurants
• Old Navy
• DVR cable…pause live TV!! It’s amazing!

and a few others.

This being listed and recognised, I would still like to go home now. I’ve appreciated the things I’ve missed and now what I miss is Glasgow, my friends, my flat, and my cats.

So, please, everyone, keep me in your thoughts, positive thoughts about me going home. And if anyone knows anyone in the home office, please ask them to get their finger out and speed things along a bit.

Thank you everyone, I hope you all have a happy yule!

xx

I have decided today that I want to write. This happens rarely, and mostly, I don’t follow through because have difficulty finding my ‘voice’.

All writers have a ’style’ that they employ, their single voice. Someone intelligent once said that a writer will find their voice after writing over 1,000 words on a single project. I don’t think I qualify for that statistic, as I usually get frustrated with my inconsistancy well before 1,000 words have been written, and give up. Or I take a break from it, and when I get back to it, I find I can’t recreate the voice I used for that particular work, and then give up.

Or start something new.

All the questions, everytime I sit down to write: Am I snarky today? Funny? Poetic?
And then the ensuing battle in my mind; that existential undiscovery; who am I as a writer? The truth is, that I don’t know. But one conclusion becomes apparent: if I can’t be consistant, then will I be able to develop any characters with consistancy?

So, here it is: my need to plow through a novel floating around in my head, and bang out 1,000 words or more, and, I dunno, finish the darned thing, so that I can find my voice; rehearse consistancy, and then learn how to put myself into the same mental state each time I write, so that my work doesn’t end up being funny and lighthearted on one page, and then jaded and dark on the next.

By the way, I made that instant cake yesterday, and oh, me, oh, my is it sweet! Also, it looks terrible, backing up my own opinion about instant cake recipes being the root of baking evil. Mom, Dad, and myself, had a hard time eating our tiny pieces of it last night, it was so sweet, and the coffee we made to go with it did nothing to cut the sweetness.

And this is why, Luminati, I will be bringing with me on my visit, a partially eaten, cake-monster. Normally, I would never bring someone a partially eaten cake, however, we will never finish it; and therefore, I offer to you the cake to either eat, or destroy, as you see fit. In a way, it’s an honour to decide the fate of one of my baking expeditions, as I trust and value your opinion. You may either be on board with the notion of Instant-Cake-Evil, or you may value it in a new and separate genre.

I digress. Back to writing; and no, I will not write about an American Citizen who is separated from her husband one month after marriage because she’s waiting for a visa from the British Consulate. As I am living it, I can tell you it’s very boring. (Which you may, if you’ve been paying attention, have learned this already.)

I felt like having cake the other day.

So, I went to the shop, bought a Devil’s Food Cake mix and some icing. But if any of you know me at all, you’ll know that I like making things from scratch. It just feels like cheating to buy an instant mix. For the most part, I abhorr instant mixes of anything. I like making everything myself, and don’t believe in the ‘just add [insert ingredient here]‘ taglines of any instant food mix.

Alas, I was saved from my hypocrasy by learning that I needed 3 eggs for this mix. (3 eggs!? Even ‘from scratch’ cake recipes don’t call for that many eggs!)

Yesterday, my mom asked me to make some Peanut Blossom Cookies, which are a Christmas favourite here at the America household. These are peanut butter cookies, with a Hershey Kiss planted right on top. Aside from an insane mixer which doesn’t shut off, the cookies turned out perfectly.

Then today, my mom asked me to make some Vegetarian Chilli, for this ‘Take it to the Streets’ rally for her Motorcycle Association. I was pleased to be asked. 5 28oz tins of tomatoes, 5 12 oz tins of beans (including black beans) and immeasurable amounts of chilli powder later, the pot is full of delicious chilli.

That being done, and simmering away, I decided, after my success with the Peanut Blossoms yesterday, to make some more cookies. (And win a battle against the mixer that doesn’t shut off.) My dad was complaining (in jest) yesterday that I made the wrong cookies. Even though he likes the Peanut Blossoms, he loves chocolate chip and walnut cookies. Mom’s got a great recipe for them, so, after checking that I had all the ingredients I needed, I quickly set to work.

I must say, they’ve turned out perfectly. And yes, in case you’re wondering, I did win the battle against the mixer-that-won’t-turn-off.

I think now, that the cure to my boredom is making treats. The irony is, I don’t like sweets.

When you wake up at 5am crying. It’s not going to be a good day.

I’ve been hopeful all week..spritely, even. But today I just feel the sheer an utter unfairness of this situation. Monday was our 1 month anniversary. Great way to spend my first month of married life.

Kev and I went to Vegas. It was excellent; full of lights and a buzz and an ‘anything could happen’ atomosphere’. We went on the New York New York Rollercoaster twice. I was hoarse the next day from screaming the entire time.

And when we got ‘home’ we knew our time together would be short and we tried to enjoy every possible second of it together.

But now it just seems like a distant memory. The laughter, the cuddling, it’s all in memory. I tried to remember this morning what it’s like to wake up next to him and I found myself abhorring the empty space next to me.

I tried to remember that place where his neck and shoulder meet, a perfectly molded spot where I can nuzzle my head, the feel of his heartbeat, his smell, his warmth. I was cold when I woke up, pulling my extra quilt over me, I thought about how I would not be cold if he were here.

But I don’t want him here. I want to be there.

My hope, my positivity has gone on vacation today. I checked my email and I have nothing from the British Consulate waiting for me. I have no email reply from the Home Secretary, who I’d written to earlier this week. Are my emails even being received? How can I convey my sense of desperation to them? How can I educate them on what it means that I’ve spent this time alone, without my new husband?

I keep thinking about my doorbell (when ye gonna ring it? When ye gonna ring it?). Please Mr UPS man, please bring me some news.

I think about packing up my things, giddy with happiness that I’ll be going home.

I think about walking through those sliding doors at Glasgow international airport, and Kev’s smiling face waiting for me on the other side.

And then I get the anger. What am I doing here? What purpose does it serve making me wait in one country when my husband is in another? What sort of torture is this? I’m not a criminal. I’m not a terrorist or a drug dealer or a con artist. I just want to get home to my baby.

I feel like staying in bed all day. I feel like staying in bed until I get my visa and my passport and my purpose.

What does it matter if I get dressed today? What will it matter if I don’t do anything at all today, and just mope around the house? What good will it do? What harm could it do?

I think I will go back to bed. Screw this. If they’re not going to email me today, then it doesn’t matter if I check my email every five minutes.