Erk. The last few days haven't been exactly friendly.
After taking 3 days leave last week to get everything packed so I could move on the weekend I'm still in the old place, only half packed, with everything in chaos. What happened? I got sick. I started feeling rotten on Thursday morning, but I just put it down to (completely plausible) fatigue and burn-out. By Friday morning I was clearly sick but thought it was just a cold and I'd push through to get the move done. Yeah, not my best decision...
Friday (the 13th!) was the day my lease began on the cottage and I was due to go to the Real Estate Agents to sign the paperwork and collect the keys. I went via the chemist where I bought some cold and flu tablets, ate one, then drove across Hobart. Once at the Agents I found out there'd been some mis-communication with the landlords and my little cottage was still full of their furniture (it was an optionally-furnished property). Hasty arrangements were made to get everything I didn't need removed before my scheduled move on Sunday.
Tired, frazzled and full of snot I made my way back across to the other side of the city, stopping one suburb from home to duck into the post office to send off some of the things I'd sold in preparation for moving. By now I really wasn't feeling well and all I was thinking about was getting home and collapsing, well aware that I really shouldn't have been driving and grateful that I was almost there with only easy roads ahead.
Reversing out of my car park I was so out of it that I'd failed to notice a pale-coloured car behind me and had backed straight into it. A quick inspection showed some damage to the bumper and perhaps the headlight, and that no-one had witnessed the incident. I hesitated for about 5 seconds, re-parked my car, wrote down all the relevant details then went into the nearby offices to find the owner of the car and fess up. Choosing to drive whilst sick: that's going to cost me about $500.
Still, it would be a lot worse if I didn't have insurance, and the lady I hit could see how sick I was and was very apologetic that she'd have to make a claim (she had the damage checked first to see if repairs could be avoided or provided for less than my excess - how nice is that?). Perhaps my honesty has gained a few karma points as well. Who knows?
Details sorted, I got back in my (completely undamaged) car and very slowly made my way home to collapse into bed and stay there for most of the next 36 hours. Yeah, it wasn't just a cold. I was properly sick.
The rest of my weekend was largely spent sleeping, interspersed with a little TV watching. I didn't pack, I re-scheduled moving and I didn't write that job application I'd intended to.
Today, Monday; I had emergency warden training scheduled, a course I'd already missed my first booking for due to illness. I knew I still wasn't well but was determined to make it. I gave myself extra time to drive to the training centre, took the back roads and stayed well under the speed limit. Thankfully I made it there and home again just fine, though I really wasn't safe to drive yet. The course finished at 1 pm (I passed!) and I had to decide what to do with the rest of my day.
I came home and called work to report in sick, logging in remotely to check for any important emails or meetings (none - I'm not sure that's a good or bad thing...). I've been sick a lot lately: repercussions of my shitty sleep situation and letting myself get too stressed out. Was calling in sick yet again the right call to make when my employment future is shaky? I really don't know. Part of me feels guilty: even though I am still sick I didn't come home and go to bed.
There were a few useful business hours left in the day and I was reasonably functional. What should I do? I could have a go at getting that job application done in time (it'd be a stretch) or try to get a few more things sorted for the move. I decided to make a quick call to my ISP to sort out getting my internet connection transferred, then have a go at the job app. An hour later I finally got off the phone to the ISP with no connection yet sorted for the new place and the sneaking suspicion that I got talked into a plan that's of less value for the same price. And that's if a naked DSL port becomes available at the exchange. For now the Cottage will have no internet at all and I'm going to have to look at a pay-as-you-go wireless account just to get me by while I wait for a port that might never eventuate as they can't put me in a queue. Apparently I have to call back every month to re-apply until such time as a port becomes available or I get desperate enough to pay the exorbitant fee to have a phone line connected to the cottage.
The poor service and high cost of data in this country is criminal, and I'm in a capital city. I truly feel for our country brethren, who find themselves utterly shafted by the telcos. I'm not quite sure how much sorting out a decent internet connection is going to cost me, but it's going to cost either a lot of time and frustration or far more money than it should. Possibly it'll be both. Still, I was nice to the call centre people and they've waived the last month of my bill for my troubles. More credits in the karma account for everyone!
By the time I finally got off the phone the last thing I wanted to do was write a job application, especially as the job would be a significant ($15 to $20k) pay cut and, if offered, I'd have to take it before I find out what's happening with my current position. So I chose not to write the damn thing. This may turn out to be a very expensive decision if I do lose my job! But then when I rang the would-be-new-boss on Friday to ask about the job I didn't get the greatest vibe...
Strangely enough after all the faff and frustration of calling the ISP I was actually feeling a lot better. I thought about packing a few more boxes but quickly accepted that what I really wanted to do was head over to the Cottage to check the place over, see if the power had been connected and that the landlord had finally removed the unwanted furnishings. I grabbed a few things I'd already packed, threw them in the car and drove over to the western shore (finally feeling actually safe to drive!). I'm glad I did.
It turns out my new neighbour, Oliver, is the landlord's son and is responsible for maintenance on the property. He came over to introduce myself and helped me to unstick the latch to the electricity meter so I could switch on the power. Once inside I discovered a few items that still needed to be removed so was able to hand them on to Oliver for storage. We also picked up a few small repairs that needed doing and I discovered that he's really keen to keep the place nice and fix up anything I need. Win!
I know living next-door to your own landlord might not be ideal, but I got a really good feel from Oliver, and since my partying days are well behind me and I'm pretty much a dream tenant, I can really only see the benefits. Also, I found out that the Cottage is over 100 years old!
It was also the first time I'd been able to view the property without it being full of someone else's furniture and really get an idea of what it's going to look like with my things in place. Oh it's going to be lovely! The whole place just feels welcoming and very me. I think it's going to be a wonderfully happy home. I can't wait to be out of here, away from my increasingly inconsiderate housemate and the shitty sleep situation and into my very own cottage. Yes, it's going to cost me a lot more for rent and bills, but at a significant saving to my mental and physical health and well-being. That's the kind of expense I really don't mind paying.
On the way home I stopped off to pick up a few things for dinner and a bunch of bright yellow flowers. The flowers, along with a thank you note, were dropped at the door of my friend Kat's house to say thank you for dropping around some emergency supplies to very sick me on Saturday. I hope they made her evening.