Love. (via jennyblake)
Yesterday I briefly posted about being in limbo. I’ll use this post to go into a bit more detail.
Back in Feb and March of 2010 my husband applied for all three MA Art Therapy programmes in London. Goldsmiths Uni, Roehampton Uni, and Uni of Hertfordshire. Dave was accepted to all three programmes, but chose a place at Uni of Hertfordshire because he felt more connected to the programme there.
This was something we had talked about for a long time. Me quitting my job. Us moving to London, doing the ‘London’ scene. Dave being and artist in London. I would be the bread-winner. It would be a tough time financially but we would get through it. We knew it was coming upon us. We knew all of this months and months before it was going to begin. We had a decent amount of savings in place. We knew the loans to apply for. We were going to be okay.
And now it is real. I quit my job on July 23rd. I was coordinating a wedding for July 31st so I needed the week previous off anyway. And we decided on a trip home to Texas so I could spend time with my folks before embarking on the crazy business world in London. I knew it would be tough getting a job in London. I had already applied for about 12 jobs, had two interviews, but neither were successful. That sucked. I needed to apply for a few more. So we went to Texas, came back to England, and I applied. We were scheduled to move out on September 1st.
We have been at my inlaws for two weeks now. As of today, I have applied for over 200 jobs. I have registered and interviewed with three agencies. I am in the middle of interviews with one company. I am nowhere where I thought we would be. For the last four ‘working’ days I have been waiting. Waiting for a phone call, an email. Anything. Waiting for another interview—-for someone to look at my CV, think I’m good enough and call me in.
I’m a graduate who is smart, articulate, and has great people skills. And I’m finding this job-search to be impossible. It feels soul-destroying at times. I have to keep a regular check on myself when it comes to being bitchy, depressed, etc. That is not me. It’s not what I want. And yet I find myself treating the people nearest me in that respect.
Tomorrow I’m thinking about making brownies. I need things to do to fill my time while I wait.
Today I prayed for patience. I will continue that prayer.
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Trying to find a job in London.
Trying to find a flat in London.
Currently, these are the two sole occupiers of my energy.
Drinks with my good friend Robin. Doin’ the sweet Sunday night thing.
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In Texas. I’m happy here.
This weekend I’ve got:
An art show Friday night….Likely to offer lots of booze, pretentious conversation, and probably dinner & pub with friends afterward.
Looking at old cars, new to us! Saturday daytime…. our current car is freakin’ massive. Not a London car at all. Looking at used Volkswagon Polos, yo.
Kenya comedown/World Cup party Saturday evening…. meeting up with the Kenya groupies to exchange photos and memories from two weeks ago. Oh, and gotta appease the boys in the group by having the UK/USA match on. I’m making a big batch of guac. Yummmm.
A hopefully restful Sunday :)
Yes, this happened tonight. Yes, I took more than half my fajita meat home for a lunch leftover tomorrow. Mexican food is a weekness, and when jess (pictured purring while doing a cougar-esque claw) and I get together this sort of stuff happens. Jess is from Fargo, ND and married a Brit too. It is nice to have American girlfriends here.
Back from Kenya two weeks ago. I only have seven more weeks of work left til my last day! And one of those weeks I’ll be in glorious Texas with some besties soaking up some 4th of July sun on the river. heaven.
I’ve been a total weight loser failure recently as well. Gained 5.5 pounds in Kenya. Woo! And I’ve yet to drop an ounce of it. Weight watchers girl told me last night that I had in fact put on half a pound MORE! Ah. But ya know, I’ve grown weary of beating myself up. This is me right now. I’m 215pounds. I’m a 16/18. I’m definitely closer to my highest weight ever (230) than my lowest weight (170). But this is me. And I’m tired of being a self-hater. I need accountability and I need to lose weight, but I’m exhausted of beating myself up and putting myself into mental chaos, only to freak out even more when my efforts lead to a gain.
I’ve got amazing friends and an amazing husband. We’ve only got a couple more months left in Wolverhampton, the place I’ve called home for the last 7 years. The only city I’ve ever lived in while in England. And we’re trading our secure, full-time jobs, comfy two-bedroom bungalow and full-size family car to go tramping around the capital city for two years+ while Dave pursues his MA. This is equally exciting and terrifying.
There are so many questions and anxieties that our future raises for me especially. Dave is the cool one in the relationship. He goes with the flow. I’m the insane, neurotic planner who likes to how we are going to keep putting away savings while trying to put food on the table (if we even have a table) in one of the most expensive cities to live in on Earth!!
And it is this kind of thinking that leads me to eating. Probably more than I need to. More than I’m hungry for. Maybe having that chocolate after dinner that I wasn’t even craving but thought ‘why not’ and mindlessly consumed it.
And our days with our friends in Wolves are numbered. I don’t want to lock myself away right now. That’s basically how I lost the weight the first time. I want to see my friends. Do lunch, do dinner, do drinks. Enjoy life and each other’s company.
And so I’ve decided to accept myself at 215 right now. Am I happy at this weight? No. Do I think it is a healthy weight? Not at all. But right now, in this instant, it is me. And my weight doesn’t define me. At least I don’t want it to, and I’m learning to change my perspective on this.
These last few weeks I’m going have fun being me, in my life, with my friends, as I am in this moment.
