Saturday, 28 May 2011
Island Sunset
As the sun sets on my third full day on the island I'm feeling a little better about the situation, nothing here is great but it is at least livable.
I've worked a few shifts in my position, it's busy which is good and it's been nice to get back to a role with customer contact, having a chance to interact with people.
Maybe this will turn out after all.
I've worked a few shifts in my position, it's busy which is good and it's been nice to get back to a role with customer contact, having a chance to interact with people.
Maybe this will turn out after all.
Wednesday, 18 May 2011
Island Arrival
Yesterday, I arrived on the island.
After packing, flying and catching a ferry, bowed down by a flu bug and more mucus than I ever thought my head could possibly hold, I arrived.
I was speechless, mostly because my sore throat would barely let out more than a squeak at a time, and half deaf because my ears had not yet popped properly. Along with two other new employees, I was subjected to a whirlwind tour of the island, and dumped in our rooms, as the managers were in a hurry to catch the last boat off to Airlie Beach for a party.
The rooms. The rooms were a bit of a shock. I was expecting them to be austere sure, but at least clean and maintained. They're not. Doors, drawers, handles and finishings are broken all over the shop, the carpet is putrid. Mildew has been painting folk art over the entirety of the bathroom ceiling.
I haven't even started working yet. My first shift is at 5pm tonight.
It may be my illness speaking, but I'm having a hard time seeing the bright side here. My one consolation, the people are nice, but it may not be enough.
I give it a week.
After packing, flying and catching a ferry, bowed down by a flu bug and more mucus than I ever thought my head could possibly hold, I arrived.
I was speechless, mostly because my sore throat would barely let out more than a squeak at a time, and half deaf because my ears had not yet popped properly. Along with two other new employees, I was subjected to a whirlwind tour of the island, and dumped in our rooms, as the managers were in a hurry to catch the last boat off to Airlie Beach for a party.
The rooms. The rooms were a bit of a shock. I was expecting them to be austere sure, but at least clean and maintained. They're not. Doors, drawers, handles and finishings are broken all over the shop, the carpet is putrid. Mildew has been painting folk art over the entirety of the bathroom ceiling.
I haven't even started working yet. My first shift is at 5pm tonight.
It may be my illness speaking, but I'm having a hard time seeing the bright side here. My one consolation, the people are nice, but it may not be enough.
I give it a week.
Tuesday, 17 May 2011
Wearing the Consequences
I'm on the plane now, I realise I should be really excited at this stage but I'm just not there yet. I'm just not sure about this adventure this time, I don't have that "good feeling" I usually get.
Instead, I have the feeling I get when I've been out clothes shopping, and I've bought some really fabulous article of glamour, that I absolutely love but that will promptly sit in my wardrobe for years (or my Dad's storage unit anyway) and never actually be worn. It'll just sit there, being beautiful never quite reaching it's full potential because instead of leaving it in the store to be purchased by someone who may actually take it out on the town, I own it just to hide it away, I am wasting it. I never should have bought it. I've made a bad move and every time I see the garment it reminds me.
This is the feeling I have now. I hope I haven't done the wrong thing.
Instead, I have the feeling I get when I've been out clothes shopping, and I've bought some really fabulous article of glamour, that I absolutely love but that will promptly sit in my wardrobe for years (or my Dad's storage unit anyway) and never actually be worn. It'll just sit there, being beautiful never quite reaching it's full potential because instead of leaving it in the store to be purchased by someone who may actually take it out on the town, I own it just to hide it away, I am wasting it. I never should have bought it. I've made a bad move and every time I see the garment it reminds me.
This is the feeling I have now. I hope I haven't done the wrong thing.
Saturday, 14 May 2011
Happy Belated Wandering Woman-niversary!
This month I forgot my own anniversary, terrible I know, but really, coming from someone who is capable of forgetting where they live, can you expect any better?I have been rather unexcitingly engaged this month with some very unresponsive job hunting, and some on and off flirting with a fabulous flu bug type thing. It's been a very special time.
That was, until a couple days ago, when I received a call offering me a position in the beautiful Whitsundays, I start on Monday. I don't think the idea of it has hit me yet. I've been a bit numb about it all, but Sydney has been in the grips of some of it's coldest early May days in history and I'm going to go live on a tropical island, you've got to be excited about that, right?
Wednesday, 4 May 2011
Did I ever tell you about the time I forgot where I lived?
I know I haven't because I didn't quite have words for it at the time.
It was Halloween last year, I was still in Japan.
In the weeks proceeding, I had found my living arrangements to be unsuitable.
In the days proceeding, I had contacted my property manager, viewed a few different properties, found one I liked, signed all the necessary documents and made all the necessary payments.
In the hours proceeding, I had packed all of my belongings, been picked up by my property manager at my old house, moved all of my belongings into my new apartment, nicknamed it 'my Shoebox', found my way to the nearest train station, and caught the train to Kobe where I was meeting a friend who was only in Japan for a day on a business conference.
In the minutes proceeding, I had stepped off the last train back from Kobe, bumped into four Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles all of whom were Donatello and German, walked back down the main street, turned off the main street just before the 7Eleven and realised I had absolutely no idea where to go next.
Pickle.
So there I was, physical energy depleted by a full day in Kobe, emotional energy depleted by moving house, mental energy depleted by trying to make sense of Japanese street signs at an hour that was quickly encroaching on 2am, and all my faith in myself depleted by wondering how I could have managed to get myself in this situation.
I trudged repeatedly around the 6 block area I knew had to contain my Shoebox, fighting back self defeat and the urge to sob. Then, suddenly, when I felt like I'd been walking for nights and nights on end, when I had actually been circling for an hour, when I was just about ready to look for a park bench to curl up on, I caught a sliver of a glimpse of pale pink tiles. Pale pink tiles that would in the following months become the all too familiar herald of home, pale pink tiles which to this day cover one of the ugliest apartment buildings known to man, pale pink tiles whose only excuse for existing must be that they were very very cheap, but pale pink tiles that at that time were the most beautiful sight in the known Universe.
It was Halloween last year, I was still in Japan.
In the weeks proceeding, I had found my living arrangements to be unsuitable.
In the days proceeding, I had contacted my property manager, viewed a few different properties, found one I liked, signed all the necessary documents and made all the necessary payments.
In the hours proceeding, I had packed all of my belongings, been picked up by my property manager at my old house, moved all of my belongings into my new apartment, nicknamed it 'my Shoebox', found my way to the nearest train station, and caught the train to Kobe where I was meeting a friend who was only in Japan for a day on a business conference.
In the minutes proceeding, I had stepped off the last train back from Kobe, bumped into four Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles all of whom were Donatello and German, walked back down the main street, turned off the main street just before the 7Eleven and realised I had absolutely no idea where to go next.
Pickle.
So there I was, physical energy depleted by a full day in Kobe, emotional energy depleted by moving house, mental energy depleted by trying to make sense of Japanese street signs at an hour that was quickly encroaching on 2am, and all my faith in myself depleted by wondering how I could have managed to get myself in this situation.
I trudged repeatedly around the 6 block area I knew had to contain my Shoebox, fighting back self defeat and the urge to sob. Then, suddenly, when I felt like I'd been walking for nights and nights on end, when I had actually been circling for an hour, when I was just about ready to look for a park bench to curl up on, I caught a sliver of a glimpse of pale pink tiles. Pale pink tiles that would in the following months become the all too familiar herald of home, pale pink tiles which to this day cover one of the ugliest apartment buildings known to man, pale pink tiles whose only excuse for existing must be that they were very very cheap, but pale pink tiles that at that time were the most beautiful sight in the known Universe.
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