Friday was a long day. The same cute movers from Thursday arrived at 8:30am to move all the packed items into the moving van. During this time, Shawn and I went to the bank to sign mortgage papers for the other house, the one in which we will never live, and it made me feel sad to sign things that stated I agreed I would pay all kinds of horrendous penalties if this mortgage is canceled before five years have passed, knowing full well that the plan is to cancel this mortgage as soon as possible. Once the movers were done (they were fast!) we spent the rest of the day cleaning the house with the help of Shawn's mother and her partner. In spite of our frustration with the new owners regarding their insistence on expensive and unnecessary documents, we cleaned the house properly and thoroughly. Karma is important. We did a good job.
Once we were done that, the realtor came to pick up our keys and do a final walk through to ensure we hadn't stolen any appliances or fixtures that were supposed to be part of the sale. He seemed enormously pleased that we had left partial rolls of toilet paper behind in all three bathrooms for the new owners. I wonder if it is common for people to take these with them? Again, it seems to me that it would be unnecessarily mean to leave the new owners without TP on their moving day. Karma.
We had planned on spending Friday night sleeping on an air mattress and then making the drive in the morning. However, by the time everything was said and done, we were both so wired with adrenaline and anticipation that we decided to just go ahead and drive through the night. We started out at about 10:30. Around 3:00, Shawn decided he would take some caffeine pills to help him stay awake. He wanted to drive the whole way himself and would hear nothing of my thoughts on the evils of caffeine pills until about 4:30am when he suddenly pulled over and asked me to drive.
I expected him to start sleeping at this point, but instead he sat in the passenger seat with his eyes wide open but looking like a zombie. A pale green zombie. This went on until about 5:30am when the first morning light began to reflect in the Rockies, and I pulled over so Shawn could throw up caffeine pills on the side of the highway. After that display, and more retching than I have ever heard in my life, I continued to pull over every couple of hours so Shawn could continue throwing up. A few times I became too sleepy to keep driving and we had to stop on the side of the road so I could walk around and wake myself up. As we got closer to Vancouver Shawn started to feel better and resumed driving.
We arrived at the inlaws' around noon on Saturday morning feeling exhausted. Shawn threw up a couple more times for good measure. Then we brought our meager belongings from the car to the house and had a nap.
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Sunday we drove to the ocean which is literally ten minutes away, and walked along the beach and on the pier and had lunch in a cafe looking out over the water. I felt like we were on our honeymoon again. We looked in an art gallery on the beach that was so inspiring to Shawn that he suddenly wanted to start painting again, something he hasn't done in about ten years.
Monday morning Shawn went back to work and I started applying for jobs. Amazingly, Monday afternoon I got an interview, which just happened to be at a school that is about a seven minute drive (or twenty-five minute walk) from our new house. The job is all Drama. NO Social Studies, no English, no Health, none of the other horrible things that I keep getting roped into. All Drama! Here in BC, there is no such thing as "junior high" and secondary schools go from eighth to twelfth grade instead. Even better. I raced to the mall to buy something to wear to the interview as I had only packed jeans and t-shirts for my week of basement dwelling, and began learning my way around my new home.
The principal called to offer me the job on Monday night. That's right, I'm about to rejoin the workaday workforce. By choice, no less. I start on Monday.
Starting on Monday, unfortunately, hinges upon my ability to sort out my horribly confusing transcripts which state that I have "transfer credits", giving the impression that I have attended another post secondary institution which I have not. These credits, rather, have been transferred internally because I was given permission to take a course without the prerequisites and received credit for them without taking them. This is causing great confusion for my employer who seems, currently, to be under the impression that I am hiding something.
After sitting on the phone half the morning (long distance!) waiting to speak to a person at the registrar's office, I finally hung up and tried a different tactic, bothering people in my Faculty. It took awhile but I finally convinced the secretary to let me speak to a real live person, one who promised to send a letter to my employer and to send me email confirmation of such. Three hours later I have still not received this confirmation so I am holding my breath and hoping that it really does get done.
Lastly, my employment also depends upon my getting hold of a letter from a doctor stating that I am physically and emotionally able to undertake the work. I cannot fathom how a doctor could possible sign a piece of paper that states anything about my emotional state based upon a fifteen minute chat, but I guess as long as I can keep from bursting into tears or shouting curses I should be okay. The physical part shouldn't be an issue except for the fact that every time a doctor presses a cold stethoscope to my chest my heart begins beating about 200 times a minute. White Coat Syndrome. I don't know why I'm so afraid of doctors, but I am. Just thinking about them gives me butterflies. I have no choice, however, and will try to find one to sign my release paper tomorrow.
So that's it, that's Life updated to Tuesday, August 28th. I'm excited, exhausted, exhausted, and exhausted.
Monday morning Shawn went back to work and I started applying for jobs. Amazingly, Monday afternoon I got an interview, which just happened to be at a school that is about a seven minute drive (or twenty-five minute walk) from our new house. The job is all Drama. NO Social Studies, no English, no Health, none of the other horrible things that I keep getting roped into. All Drama! Here in BC, there is no such thing as "junior high" and secondary schools go from eighth to twelfth grade instead. Even better. I raced to the mall to buy something to wear to the interview as I had only packed jeans and t-shirts for my week of basement dwelling, and began learning my way around my new home.
The principal called to offer me the job on Monday night. That's right, I'm about to rejoin the workaday workforce. By choice, no less. I start on Monday.
Starting on Monday, unfortunately, hinges upon my ability to sort out my horribly confusing transcripts which state that I have "transfer credits", giving the impression that I have attended another post secondary institution which I have not. These credits, rather, have been transferred internally because I was given permission to take a course without the prerequisites and received credit for them without taking them. This is causing great confusion for my employer who seems, currently, to be under the impression that I am hiding something.
After sitting on the phone half the morning (long distance!) waiting to speak to a person at the registrar's office, I finally hung up and tried a different tactic, bothering people in my Faculty. It took awhile but I finally convinced the secretary to let me speak to a real live person, one who promised to send a letter to my employer and to send me email confirmation of such. Three hours later I have still not received this confirmation so I am holding my breath and hoping that it really does get done.
Lastly, my employment also depends upon my getting hold of a letter from a doctor stating that I am physically and emotionally able to undertake the work. I cannot fathom how a doctor could possible sign a piece of paper that states anything about my emotional state based upon a fifteen minute chat, but I guess as long as I can keep from bursting into tears or shouting curses I should be okay. The physical part shouldn't be an issue except for the fact that every time a doctor presses a cold stethoscope to my chest my heart begins beating about 200 times a minute. White Coat Syndrome. I don't know why I'm so afraid of doctors, but I am. Just thinking about them gives me butterflies. I have no choice, however, and will try to find one to sign my release paper tomorrow.
So that's it, that's Life updated to Tuesday, August 28th. I'm excited, exhausted, exhausted, and exhausted.
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