…bygones

…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.