evilfate

Just when things were starting to look up... well, they come crashing down of course. Of course!
Although looking back at that last entry it was hard to tell things were looking up at all. They probably weren't. It was probably temporary blindness, what with the dazzle of two bright gems of jobs. Bah. Fate, why be you so damn cruel? And with the worst sense of humour ever! Grrrr.
Yeah, so, if you haven't guessed, I didn't get the law society job. Nor the other one, for that matter. Nope. I currently have no prospects. Nothing. Nada. And a deportation time bomb rapidly counting down the seconds... hmmmm.
So what happened? Well, I went to Edinburgh on Tuesday to have a more intimate chat and tour of the law society and things seemed to go just peachy. I even got a haircut and bought new shoes for the occasion! (Which gave me big fat sores on my heels and blister on my lil toe. A sign surely. Grrr.) But apparently I'm just not outgoing enough. Or enthusiastic. I think my real problem is I'm just too goddamn honest. It's always gotten me in trouble. Argh.
Well, I thought - after a bit of a cry, of course - at least I've got that other job to fall back on. Speaking of which, shouldn't the ditz from the agency have gotten in touch with me by now to arrange that interview? Hmm. Let's give her a call, shall we? That'll make me feel better. Yeah. What's that? The post has been filled??? Internally? ARGH!
As for the flat deposit situation, it has yet to be resolved. I've called the bastard but - surprise surprise - he's never in, and doesn't return my calls. A friendly chat with the citizen's advice bureau and a careful read of the lease also revealed I have hardly a chance in hell of fighting it. But I'm still determined to make a stink. Go down fighting. Yeah! Though, admittedly, I'm losing all my battle strength.
I feel like a lazy ass who can't do anything right. A weakling. A useless piece of shit. A big, fat failure - literally, because despite all efforts at diet and exercise I amazingly continue to gain weight...what the FUCK.
In a feeble attempt to counteract at least some of this, I spun into action yesterday. Skipping lunch - who needs to eat right? - I phoned a dentist and doctor to finally register and get an appointment. I then headed into town with Richard. Our first stop: the shoe shop to return those dreadful painful bastards I bought only the day before for the dreadful painful interview. Sure, they were worn. And a bit dirty. But I scrubbed em clean, polished em up, sprayed em with some scent and tricked that salesperson real good. Very satisfying (if not terrifying, as I am a wimp after all).
Then we hit the book shop to buy Auto Trader so I could start the process of selling my car. Then we went to the movies. Not very productive, perhaps, but vital nonetheless. I needed entertaining, distraction, etc. It was a good film for it too, as it was set in South America and provided brilliant backdrops and food for thought. It even inspired a thoughtful discussion over dinner afterwards, something of which our relationship is apparently lacking. Hmmm.
Anyway.. yeah. I was feeling a bit better. Then I returned home and quickly checked my email, only to be cornered by my mother, the woman whose only desire is to see me fail and return home. She was absolutely the last person I wanted to talk to at that moment, as you can probably imagine. But she actually wasn't too bad. Claimed she only wants me to do what will make me happy, and that apparently means staying here for now. She told me to keep my chin up, keep trying, etc. Hmmm. Was this the same woman? I'm still suspicious. Just last week she warned that if I don't buy tickets for my November flight home soon, the prices will skyrocket.
Have I also mentioned my new found addiction to CivII? It has taken over my life lately. Which is really sad. And not helpful in combatting the aforementioned lazy ass guilt syndrome. I'm almost over it though. Almost.
This morning when I woke up I just wanted to lie about all day and hide from the big bad ugly world outside. But Richard gently prodded me into activity, and by 3pm we were out the door again on more errands. Well done. We decided to take the car out to keep it running smoothly. We found it where I left it - always a relief - and hopped in, only to see this strange wire hanging over the windshield. What is that, I wondered stupidly. It was the fucking RADIO ANTENNA and it was TWISTED. By some useless fuckwit twats, no doubt, some neighbourhood hellions. ARGH! This following the loss of a hubcap as well. Just when I'm trying to sell the damn thing. PERFECT! Another fantastic thing to enter as evidence into the cursed column of my log book of bad luck.
God, why do you mock me so?
So, you wonder, what is the plan now? Your guess is as good as mine. I shall be making an appointment with an immigration advisory charity to assess my options. Which are very limited. As I think I discussed before, there is the remote possibility I could apply for a visa extension by simply appealing for mercy from immigration officials. But even then I would have to prove sufficient income to support myself for the duration of the visa. And considering I'm minus a flat deposit and have not yet sold my biggest asset, I have next to nothing to show for myself and can do nothing on that front. I was looking into the possibility of freelancing, but I don't think I'm even allowed to do that. So frustrating!
Clearly I'm going to have to do something. Even if I apply for more jobs - of which there are none advertised presently - the process takes ages. There are usually a few weeks before the application deadline, then waiting for them to make a decision and set up interviews.., by that point, a month has usually passed. Simply submitting a visa application would buy me more time, but at a cost of about £200.
Can you see why it's so tempting to just cower and hide? Blech.
Fuckers.