…of being unemployed.
OK, so I’m not actually unemployed, but with my visa still held up somewhere in the world unto itself that is immigration, I have no means of earning, no office to go to, and no idea when (or even if, I’m starting to get fairly pessimistic about the whole thing) this situation will be rectified.
In the beginning, the enforced break seemed like a brilliant opportunity. I could relax after being stressed out to the point of near mental collapse, I would be able to read, write, do all the things I never had time to do when I was working because I would come home and curl up into a ball of misery thinking about returning the next day and the one after that.
To a certain extent all of that was true, for a while. This week has seen a dramatic drop in my motivation levels. I am struggling to maintain the momentum I had in the first few weeks of what my friends are calling my ‘funemployment.’
I am beginning to see why people without jobs don’t have spic and span houses, aren’t physically fitter than they are when they are working, aren’t constantly reading or filling their days with productive (albeit free) activities.
The lack of routine, the fact that if I don’t put on clothes today, no-one will know or care, the general indifference that I feel towards nearly everything I do, (because would it matter if I didn’t do it today, I will have just as much free time tomorrow) is really starting to beat me down.
The final straw came today when I wandered down to my building’s mini mart wearing purple yoga pants normally reserved for when I’m on some kind of beach in the middle of nowhere and an oversized England cricket shirt. When did I decide that it was OK to leave my flat wearing what was basically one step away from pyjamas?
I got back to my flat, cooked eggs, was briefly attacked by my cat who likes to do his best to relieve the monotony of my days by acting like Cato Fong, and was halfway through watching a god-awful film when I realised something had to be done.
Naturally, rather than actually DOING anything I decided to write this post.
So here are some things I didn’t expect from unemployment:
1) My gym shoes are falling apart
In my more motivated period (so between Christmas and now) I was working out every day on the basis that there was nothing else to do. Those who know me or read my old blog will know that due to an unfortunate incident that put a land cruiser in the same geographical space being occupied by my rib cage I haven’t been at my most athletic recently. Determined to change that, off I toddled to the gym each morning (I say morning, if I see 10am I think of it as a good day.)
As a result of this combined with a few ill-advised runs outside, the soles of my shoes are falling off (and, in some parts, melted to the Corniche.)
This week, though, even exercise has gone out the window (apart from fencing) – I’m hoping some level of motivation will return, even if it is just not to look like crap if I end up having to go back to England if all this goes belly up.
I’m not the most consistent of sleepers. Sometimes I sleep more than the average cat, and at other times I’m lucky to get 3 or 4 hours. Weirdly, when I am stressed out I normally sleep like a baby as my body adopts a head-in-sand approach that can’t be too sound evolutionarily speaking.
Apparently, however, my frustration at not working does not produce the same effect and no matter how much I run, read, write, I lie in bed staring at the ceiling and wishing I didn’t already know how the shadows would change shape during the night. In fact, I sleep properly about twice a week on evenings I have been fencing. I think my coach is now slightly confused by my new-found obsession with having extra training sessions.
A friend of mine here used to get incredibly annoyed that I would bail on mid-week parties or dinners or whatevers at about 10. Starting work at 7am meant that I would go just long enough to have been and then bounce. It meant I looked forward to the weekends when I could hang out into the wee small hours.
During my first weeks of unemployment this pattern changed, and my friend was thrilled with the person she dubbed “new, fun, social Flip.” As the weeks have changed to months, I have started to retreat further and further back into my shell until I have reached the stage that going out to see the people I love and who make this dusty city of skyscrapers and construction noises worthwhile is becoming a physical and mental struggle.
Being alone all day (apart from the ninja cat) has apparently made the thought of being with people a stressful one.
4) I have the attention span of a child
And a fairly inattentive one at that. In an effort to make my mind as tired as my body I have started piecing together contacts and vague plans for a few stories I have been wanting to work on for a while.
The lack of deadlines and therefore, the lack of imposed prioritising mean that I might spend an hour reading about one country or story or project, and the next five searching out contacts in a totally unrelated field, and finally looking at the cost of flights to somewhere equally unrelated to both my original story ideas.
This post itself is slightly symptomatic of the side effects of my current predicament as I try to make sure I have something to show at the end of my day, that I am not just sitting around, watching the clock, waiting for whoever is wielding that life-changing stamp to crash it on to my paperwork with a satisfying thud.
I wonder if he understands that what, to him, is a second’s work will make the past two months, and the next 12, of my life worthwhile.
Apologies for any copy errors, I have a cat sleeping on me.
Although he could just be lulling me into a false sense of security.