I’m starting to become a bit undone again, there’s too much going on in my life right now. So I guess this is an update of sorts of what’s going on with me.
I’ve been talking about moving out of this place since the end of last year, in the past 2 months it has been a giant fuck around calling tenant unions and waiting fucking weeks for a response from the real estate. And now, after having a meeting with the real estate it’s finally happening, we have to be out of here by the 4th. And we have 2 house inspections this week where people are just going to walk around (still my home) and I have to deal with that. So I have until Wednesday to make the house good again because I’ve been terrible with cleaning. Not only that but we have to go look at houses this week too, and we’ve decided to leave Melbourne, we will still be in Victoria but not metro Melbourne. And I’m scared, we originally talked about a one bedroom unit a tiny bit north of Melbourne CBD and now we are going out of Melbourne where we can get a place like we are in now for only half the price. Because it’s not Melbourne, and I guess Joe Hockey (our fortunately retired ex treasurer) was right, poor people can’t afford to drive and we also can’t afford to live in Melbourne. And I’m scared. I’ve never left the city and I’m leaving the city a fair distance. But mister has been there before and there’s a good Uni there and we will actually be able to stay somewhere until mister finishes school. These are all good things, we are finally going to have more money and mister gets to go back to the school he originally did well in. These are all good things, yet why am I always on the verge of vomiting?
And I bet everyone would be thinking, geez Kim aren’t you over-exaggerating it a bit, it’s not like your leaving the country let alone the state. Because guess what good people, I’m like the 4% who DOESNT want to get on a plane and travel, if you manage to get me in to another country, then you’d want a room for me because I’m not leaving, I’m settled now. I’m like a cat, I’m happy and safe exploring my perimeters but try and move me around on big trips too often and I get highly unsettled and skittish. And yeah there’s probably a tonne of shit I’ll miss out on, but hey, I’ll miss out about as much as you miss out tripping on acid (which is its own journey that isn’t even possible to experience unless you do it, yet I bet most of you may not have done it and miss out about as much as I miss out on the experiences of travelling).
I don’t understand the obsession people have with needing to go everywhere and experience everything. I have amazing experiences everyday in just the one state I’ve ever been on. So don’t tell me I’m missing out just because I wasn’t born with the travel bug (parasite) because it doesn’t mean my life is any less fulfilling, it just means I’m happy staying where I am and I make experiences for myself without needing to leave. So back off, and stop telling me what I will and will not regret, I’ll regret plenty but it won’t be because I didn’t take the advice of pushy people who think that their way of doing things is the be all and end all, you people make me never want to NEVER travel out of sheer principle that every fucker who travels is an arsehole. (This is people in real life not on here)
And then there’s the stress of, so what the fuck are you even doing with your life? What’s your plan? What do you like to do? Are you going to make stuff and blog and YouTube and struggle your way up for years to do something you actually want to do? Or are you going to stop shooting you for the stars (because in all seriousness Kim, to shoot for the stars means you need to be interested in the idea for longer then a week at least) and just get a fucking job, accept you chose to not study and do not even have a clue what you want to do in the moment let alone in a career.
The last job I had was last year, in fact, this blog was born from that. I had that job for 3 months, we were living at my parents when I got the job and I was so happy, my first day of work was actually on my birthday July 24th, that’s why I’ll always remember when I started that job. It was a receptionist role at a small graphic design company, which also had a printing company attached to it so there was a factory as well as an office. I lost my job October 24th, exactly a 3 month trial. She lied to the real estate agent, saying I’d been working there for 2 years and that I was a great worker. She loved me in the interview, then turned on me like a backstabbing, childish cunt by the first week, because I smoked ciggarettes, and because the dumb arse didn’t ask if I smoke (which big companies aren’t allowed to ask but little ones can or they at least have to explain their smoking policy first and not just assume that you don’t) I didn’t really think it would be an issue. But it was, and I was only allowed to smoke on my lunch break which was meant to be half an hour but was 20 minutes for me because I was a good fucking worker. I barely got toilet breaks half the fucking time, I came into work 20 minutes early everyday, I spent part of my own lunch break doing things like checking the mail and doing the dishes, none of this mattered to my boss. Do you know why? Because I didn’t know how to be a good receptionist on the phone there because their clientele weren’t professional, they were shitty fucking overlord jerks who treated me like shit on the phone. I had a job where I had to spend most of my time making sure packages arrived places from couriers. Everyday Id get yelled at because something went lost, from my boss and our clients, even though there’s not much I can do when they couriers lost it in translation to other states. They told me to take my lunch break half an hour before the rest of them so they could all sit and have lunch together without me. But then the icing on the cake is when she fired me and made sure to repeat to me no less then 7 fucking times, you’re not cut out to be a receptionist, you are TERRIBLE with customers. Terrible, I was fucking terrible. I started work early, I usually got back late. I was expected to do everything else and answer the phone. But I wasn’t allowed to ask for help because that wasn’t showing enough initiative. I was not a fucking genius or superhero, and I smoke! Therefore I’m fucking TERRIBLE in her eyes. Even though, everyday I woke up in panic and spent my days in anxiety hoping to fuck I was doing enough to hold down that job, because I knew we were fucked if I lost that job. Yet this whole blog has been me struggling financially and emotionally after losing that job, this is my first house that I have my name on.
I tried my best, but in the real reality of life, just because you tried your best, doesn’t mean people won’t think it’s fucking nothing, and then you end up getting fucked over regardless, effort or no effort. I was doomed from the start when I revealed I smoked, and it didn’t matter how hard I worked, I was going to get fired after the trial, and she was going to do anything to make things more convenient for her, she knew when she put me in this house that I was going to be fucked. But she didn’t care, because some people are just straight out cunts yo.
That wasn’t my fault. She led me to believe she wanted to keep me on forever type thing because they were a close, family business. I lied about my mental health issues when I got the job, but I made sure to mention that I lied about my mental illnesses and how hard it was for me while I cried uncontrollably. It was uncomfortable. Good. Hope I made the bitch flinch for a minute.
So yeah. That’s where I’m at, having an existential crisis, and panicking even counting down minutes of the days here. I have ALL the things to do, and all I can do is sit in a half dazed position to try and calm down my forever racing heart and forever churning guts.