So this is fun…
As many of you know,
I almost died this January when my body revolted against me and decided to mistake my red blood cells for intruders and proceeded to kill most of them off. I spent weeks in the hospital and received 12 blood transfusions, immune globulin and a boat load of steroids.
I was back at the hospital for weekly blood tests and after a crop of new symptoms, sent to a Rheumatologist who tested me for Lupus.
One of my tests came back positive.
How’s that for an intro to a post?
Less than 2 months after returning home, despite not being fully recovered and being plagued by a barrage of new symptoms, I started my job search, as it was clear that I wasn’t in any shape to go back to work on-call, night shifts, as an intervention counselor at the women’s shelter. As rewarding a job as it is, being awake all night, working with mentally unstable, syringe wielding and often aggressive and violent drug addicts is just not an option for me anymore.
I’ve sent out a slew of CVs, made phone calls, posted my profile on employment sights, begged everyone I know to spread the word etc… And I still haven’t found work. I’ve even applied at F#$@ing Starbucks. I feel like a living breathing, low budget, Canadian, made for T.V. after school special.
You know, the one about the single mom who is almost 40 and is applying for jobs that only teenagers will do and nobody will hire her but eventually she gets a job a McDonalds, even though she is a vegetarian.
She hates her boss because he is a misogynist creep who makes her wash the floors and leers at her while making snide comments about her age or single moms or something.
Of course, on the show, a handsome customer comes in and orders a McSalad and they fall in love. He gets on great with the kids and he justloves dogs. He magically gets her a job writing for the New Yorker and her article about McDonalds gets the whole chain closed down forever and she gets a brass awesomest-person-in-the-world plaque with her name on it and they live happily ever after in his penthouse suite, overlooking Central Park.
Where was I?
Anyway…
With no employment in sight and not even an interview in my foreseeable future, I took a week off momming and job-hunting because my boyfriend had (months ago) bought me a “HURRAY! YOU LIVED!” gift of a plane ticket to meet him in Barcelona during his European tour.
It’s the first time in my 30 something, almost 40 years of life that I have ever been outside of North America, ever.
Despite missing my kids desperately, worrying incessantly about whether or not I would have a “flare-up” while I was there, being entirely financially dependent on my boyfriend’s limited funds and most of all stressing terribly about what I was coming home to (i.e. hateful answering machine messages and/or eviction notices) I actually managed to enjoy parts of the trip.
“This is a once in a life time Jen, be mindful, take it in” This was my mantra when my mind tried wandering to the dark side.
It’s been a week since I arrived home. I have yet to find work and I am late on the rent again, as I have been a few times since being hospitalized.
My landlords (understandably) hate me for this and are hellbent on evicting me, which is great fun. They’ve given me 2 days to pay the rent “or else”
and also, just to add a little flavour to the pot, they’ve also now sent me a completely unprovoked registered letter stating that I am not complying with my lease and must get rid of our family dog within 10 days “or else”.
Now, we had the dog long before these landlords bought the building from my previous landlord who, despite neglecting to include this information on the Lease itself, gave me permission to bring my dog when we moved in here. I can probably fight them on the whole dog thing because it’s clearly just a plot to get me out of here faster but I can’t magically come up with this month’s rent or next month’s which is due in a few short days.
So here I am, Wednesday June 23rd 2010 feeling like a trapped animal, chasing my own tail again, wondering if this is ever going to stop. Wondering what the hell I’m supposed to do with 3 kids a dog and an eviction notice. Wondering if the world is ever going to cut me some slack, wondering if I’m a spoiled brat for expecting that I might deserve some.
Wondering if I should have stayed in Barcelona and sent for the kids… and the dog.