Diary of an Ex-employee - The Costs

 

Those of you who read regularly will know that I'm not an Ex-Employee any more.  I have a (relatively) new job, and I love it.

But it's tax time and, unlike in England where they just deduct your tax from your salary and you never have to think about it (unless you are rich and have a lot of assets), the process here is a pure unadulterated hell that, like Healthcare, discriminates against the uneducated and poor.

But, I digress.

This isn't a rant about the American way.

To help calculate our tax deductions, I went back through my diary (schedule) to see what I spent on travelling to, and attending, networking events, interviews and career search counselling.

Maybe you remember the post about the first time I went to the Career Transition Center run by a third party firm, but paid for by my ex-employer.  Never mind the fact that it was a depressing place, filled with reminders of my previous employer, but it was also 28 miles away from my house!  My commute to work had previously been 15 miles, but when you aren't earning any money, trekking out beyond the burbs ain't no joke.

Anyway, going through the costs of those 6 months was strangely interesting... like a mini Forensic Accounting exercise.

I didn't manage to find/remember all the things I did.  

Note to you job hunting folks - keep EVERY receipt, put mileage into the appointment on your calendar and assign it to a "JOB HUNT" category, so you can find all this stuff easily at tax time.  I figure I'll be claiming about 3/4 of what I really spent, if not less.

So.

Here are the numbers:

• Travel to Career Transition Facilities = $53.90
• Networking event costs = $126.00
• Networking mileage and parking = $124.48
• Interview mileage and parking = $70.71
• Membership (LinkedIn, Networking associations) = $124.80
• TOTAL = $445.99

If you add the costs of phone calls and stuff I have forgotten, we can probably round it up to $500.

Over 6 months.

So, for me, job hunting cost me about $80 per month.

And that is not counting the fact that nobody told me that unemployment is seen as taxable income (yes, you read that right, non-Americans and no, no-one seems to get the fact that the govt giving with one hand and taking with the other is utterly ridiculous), so I have no idea how much tax I am going to pay on the money I got.

Why am I telling you my personal financial stuff?

I am sharing it as a cautionary tale.

Yes, the job I have now is fantastic and, if I consider that $500 of my first paycheck is a write off against what I spent to get it, it's still worth it.

But, if you are out there job hunting, I ask you to note two things:

1. Budget for these expenses and and track them religiously
2. Keep going.  The investment pays off.

The door is there, and it's going to open for you.  

As the British say, Chin up!

If you want to read more posts in the Diary of an Ex-Employee series, click here.

Diary of an Ex-Employee - Day No. "Who Gives a Shit?"

I have a new job!

Diary of an Ex-Employee - Day "I've lost count"

 

My dear Fellow-Blogger-Friend, Activeleisure, posted recently about potential Halloween costumes - either dressing up as an employed person, or going out in what she calls "pajamattire" as her unemployed self.

Now being unemployed for longer than I dare to count, I really sympathize with her.

Yesterday I went out to see a friend who was in pain.  I went to the donut shop and then to her house.  We had a nice visit, and I came home, doing some errands at local stores along the way.   It was only at about 7pm that I realized that I hadn't been wearing a bra all day.

And today I was at the coffee shop and looked down at my shoes - I was wearing open birkenstock sandals with socks. 

IN.

PUBLIC.

At least they were black, not white.

As for my "pajamattire," the only reason I got dressed today is because my favorite PJs walked downstairs to the washing machine by themselves, and I had to take the hint.

Like my fellow Ex-Employee, ActiveLeisure, my Halloween this year is all about staying home.

I've been invited to a killer party, where a lot of my ex-colleagues will be.  

Actually, now that I think about it, I'm not sure if I want to spend the entire evening smiling widely and talking about how I'm just fine, thanks, and that the job market is picking up, really!

Thank God for my 10 week old puppy, because I can't leave her alone at home for more than 2 hours at a time, so she makes a good excuse for non-attendance.

I actually do have to stay home with Puppy Girl and try to keep her calm with the constant sound of people just outside.  Puppy Dog is sure to bark like a wolf on crack cocaine, so I need to be here to keep the dogs from imploding.

The last thing I need is small people (a size where Puppy Dog would think: "Yeah, I can take you") in scary masks at the door, so I've done what I can to keep the marauding candy hordes from coming a-knocking.  

The Amazon Fresh food delivery boxes have been piled into a lime green barrier, I've put a table outside with the candy in buckets and there are big signs on the door explaining that I have nervous dogs and, for the children who can't read long words, written in letters 30 inches high (I'm not kidding):

"SH!"

If it wasn't so rainy where I live, I'd put the candy out on the sidewalk.

What's the Halloween equivalent of "Bah Humbug?"

Diary of an Ex-Employee - Day 132.0

 

I have hit the doldrums.

I am becalmed.

Oh sure, there are a few puffs of wind here and there.  An interview with an agency.  A networking contact at a company I am targeting happy to forward my resume directly to HR.  Et cetera.

But none of them feel like enough of a breeze to puff out my sails and give me real forward momentum.

All I want to do is: 

• sleep
• watch trash TV
• eat.

The other day I ate ice cream at 4pm.

So far I've done three major Change-inducing things women do in times like this.  

I'm a walking cliche.  No, I'm a couch-bound cliche.

1) Cut your hair

A women who changes her hair is changing her life.  Or trying to.

"Cut it off!" I shrieked at my hairdresser.

Lucky for me, like many women, my hairdresser is a lot more than just that.  She is my friend.

And so she refused.

I now have shorter hair, but I can still pull it into a small ponytail for those I-don't-give-a-shit or I-don't-have-style-time days.

2) Consult a Psychic

You may think this is total BS, and that's your right.  

But when a woman you ask about which job to take predicts your husband 6 months before you meet him, you sit up and take notice.  And no, it didn't help me find him.  Like a lot of predictions, you only remember it was foretold after it happens.  It's like the Back to the Future time paradox.

Anyway, I sent my request through her website, transferred money from my UK account and got my word document and voice file via email a few days later.

The prediction?

Hang tight, keep doing the good job-hunting stuff I've been doing - the opportunity is very close.  

But...

Keep a tight rein on that inner voice.  That negativity, that energy-sapping doubt.

Hmm.  Easier said than done.

3) Buy something you don't need

A handbag.

Why a handbag?  Well, because many women love them, including me, and they are the ultimate indulgence.  Men, think Bugatti Veyron.

And because it was on sale, of course!

And so, how is my lovely new purchase working out, you ask.  Uh, hello!  I'm not actually using it.

It's stored away very nicely, waiting for that new job.

Here's the logic: Last time I got a new job, I bought a handbag.  Expensive.  But on sale.  Of course.  So this time I figured I am being optimistic and positive and getting the handbag now because I am about to get a new job and so I'll use the handbag on my first day!

See?

Makes perfect sense.

Of course what I really should do is go to the gym.  Take a yoga class.  Center myself.

But the gym is so very, very far from my warm, comfortable, cosy couch.

Diary of an Ex-employee - Day 120.0

Today I had to send a message to a friend saying I couldn't meet her because I am sick.  

I have a stomach thing.  You don't want details.

Anyway, she replied to me:

Well, at least you don't have to take a sick day!  Unemployed humor.

And that got me thinking... about unemployed humor.

So here we go:

"Hey, at least you don't have to go to work on the day after Labor day when you are hungover!"

"Hey, at least you're saving on hair products!"

"Hey, you don't have to make an excuse to leave the meeting room to fart!"

"Hey, at least you can improve your Facebook Lexulous skills!"

"Hey, does your drycleaner still recognize you?"

"Hey, guess you never thought you have to actually drink that cheap ass wine some guest bought to a BBQ, did you?"

"Hey, do you really think that you can speak your dog's language?  Seriously?  Does spending that much time with him really give you that skill?  Uh, does he talk back?"

"Hey - your skin looks great.  Guess what they say about getting 12 hours sleep a night is true, huh?"

"Hey, did you say you follow 14 blogs now?"

"Hey, your Twitter updates are great.  Uh, there's a lot of them but they're all really, uh... interesting."

"Hey - how come the barman knows your name? And what is your 'usual'?"

Diary of an Ex-employee - Day 113.0

 

I tried to fight it off, but the disease has finally taken hold.

I have Unemployeditis.

The symptoms are clear:

• The last time I washed my hair was so longer ago, it has started to clean itself
• I have acne.  All over.  Yes, even near to there
• I can't sleep at night
• I can't get up in the morning
• I have run out of stuff to watch on the DVR and have now added America's Got Talent to the queue.  I am also seriously considering following Hollywood House Husbands
• My nailpolish line is approximately a quarter inch from my cuticle and bits have flaked off the ends of my nails.  On the plus side, if you screw your eyes up and look at them sideways, they look like modern art
• The couch has an indent of my ass in the middle cushion
• My dog gets separation anxiety when I get up to go to the toilet
• I can feel the breeze blowing through the hairs on my legs
• I consider watering the garden a stimulating diversion
• I read tech Twitter updates and don't remember what the TLAs stand for
• I play hide and seek with the dog
• I drink 5 cups of tea a day - the coffee shop soy latte now has the same treat status as an double cone from a boutique ice cream shop
• Retired neighbors in a radius of 3 blocks say hello to me by name
• If I leave my gym pass behind, I get let in because all the receptionists recognize me
• I have run out of friends to have lunch with
• I can't bear the thought of another networking event

I know what's coming next.  The symptoms will get worse:

• Starting to watch Dr Phil on daytime TV
• Eating cold pizza for breakfast
• Scratching my privates in public
• Burping (belching) out loud
• Smoking roll ups
• Considering busking as a career
• Starting to edit my own music videos to clips of Real Housewives of Atlanta on youtube
• Breaking out Fluffy Bear's Guitar Hero

Man, I need a job.

And I know exactly the one I want.

Why don't theycall me?  WAAAH!

Diary of an Ex-employee - Day 101.0

 

I gave in yesterday.

I called our Cleaning Company.

I was standing in the dining room, looking at the dusty, untidy, dirty house and thinking about our guests from the UK arriving on Monday, thinking about a whole weekend planning cleaning, arguing with Fluffy Bear about cleaning, and actually doing cleaning, and I suddenly found the phone in my hand. 

Then I was leaving a voicemail asking for a one time clean.  I heard myself begging, pleading, and saying something about being saved from having to kill my husband.

Pammy, the lovely lady who runs the company, called me back and, after checking the Fluffy Bear was still breathing, promised to get me our usual cleaner, Mrs Amazing, this Saturday morning.

Thank God I have a 9:30am meeting this Saturday, otherwise I am sure I would completely humiliate myself by standing at the front door, open-armed and sobbing as she arrives.

Diary of an Ex-Employee - Day 97.0

An explanation for my friends who don't live in the US, and don't follow US politics: Healthcare reform is a hot-button here right now. President Obama wants to reform the system, and everyone is talking about it.

I don't know the statistics regarding private health insurance - which many cannot afford - vs. what those who are against reform, here, call "socialized healthcare." (Note the clever insertion of the concept of the dreaded socialism in that phrase.)

I don't know what having people who are uninsured going to the A&E (ER) costs vs. them having access to GPs (family doctors).

I don't know how healthcare reform will change the once-mighty US of A.

What I do know is two things:

1. Having "insurance" for something that has a one in one chance of happening (people getting sick) is a flawed concept
2. My personal experience with the healthcare system.

So let's talk No. 2 - my experience.

Stage 1 - Reasonable health coverage

When I first got to the US, I was covered under Fluffy Bear's policy. Different companies offer different levels of cover which means that, if you go to work for a very small company, healthcare coverage may be more expensive for you.

One could argue that small business is therefore not generally attracting the best talent, because people may choose to work for the larger companies which, getting bulk rate, can afford to give employees better cover.

But that's a generalization.

Back to stage one of my healthcare coverage. We had to pay what they call a "co-pay" when we went to the doctor. Sometimes it is a fixed amount, sometimes a percentage, I think. I'm not sure. I just know it was strange to hand over my credit card in a doctor's reception.

Some plans also have what they call a "deductible," just like when you insure your car. So the initial cost of any repairs you undergo, as a sick person, need to be covered by you. It may be $500, or $750, or whatever. I don't remember what ours was.

Stage 2 - Excellent health coverage

At my previous employer I got excellent health coverage. I could go to the doctor when I needed to, I didn't have to pay for medicine (drugs), I could be referred to a specialist without the axiety of cost.

I didn't realize how lucky I was compared to others.

Stage 3 - Limbo

Now, see, here's where I start to get pissed off.

The way the system works - from what I can tell - is that they have this thing called COBRA.

Here is the best online definition I found for it.

COBRA stands for the Consolidated Omnibus Budget Reconciliation Act, which became law in 1986. COBRA gives you the right to choose to temporarily keep the group health insurance benefits that you would otherwise lose after you reduce your working hours, quit your job, or lose your job. It also lets family members choose to keep health insurance after your job loss or other qualifying event that would normally cause them to lose the coverage they have through your employer.

Before this law went into effect, when employees left their companies, they and any covered family members lost their health insurance immediately. If the employee or a family member were ill, they were often not able to get new health insurance because they were already sick. COBRA allows an employee to buy health insurance through the employer even though the person no longer works there or no longer works full time.

I don't know who sets the rules for how transition to COBRA coverage works. i don't know if the healthcare insurers, or the government, or my previous company set up this process.  All I know is what I experienced.

First, even though I called my previous employer twice prior to my final pay day to see if I could set things up early, I was told that details of COBRA coverage are only sent out on the final day of your employment. Cover, I was assured, will be retroactive to the day that you left your prior employer.

I waited almost a week to receive the pack of information.

Second, once I got the information, I had to go online and say that, yes, I did want COBRA coverage, and what level I wanted it at. Prices vary according to coverage levels. I chose to stay at the level of coverage - for Fluffy Bear and myself - that we had previously had. Normally, this would cost us $960 dollars a month. Thanks to a temporary government grant, 65% of this is now covered.

Third, my information chewed it's way through the system. This lasted over a week. Then I was sent a pack of "coupons" which I had to put together with my check and send to my previous employer so they could reactivate my coverage from the date that I had left their employ.

I waited for coverage to restart.

I called my health insurance provider and explained that I was out of medicine. The woman on the phone was sympathetic, but unmoving. She asked me if she could put me through to a doctor who could talk to me about what to do. God forbid they should open themselves up to lawsuits, after all. I can just hear it: "We did try. We asked her if she wanted to talk to one of our doctors, for free.  It's not our fault she can't afford health insurance."

I kept going to the pharmacy, only to be told that I had no coverage and, if I wanted to pick up the two prescriptions I had pending, I would have to pay $350. Eventually I had to call my health insurance provider and had the good fortune to have my call answered by one of those gems - a proactive, customer service oriented person - who, even though it was not their job to do so, had to chase up my previous employer for their payment so I could get coverage again.

Bear in mind that health insurance was, throughout this entire process, the SAME coverage through the SAME health insurance provider, paid for by the SAME company, my previous employer.

And yet, I spent a month uninsured, in a heatwave of summer, with no asthma medication.

Does anyone get that, during that period of uninsurance, even if you can claim back money spent on medicine, you just may not be able to afford to pay for it in the first place?

Does anyone get that going off medication suddenly can be incredibly dangerous?

Does anyone get that, if you are in the middle of treating something, stopping treatment could delay overall cure? One of the medicines I needed was my poopershoot cream. The last time I went to see the nice man who sticks things up my anus, he said I was almost cured and that one more treatment should do it. Try not medicating for a month. When I say "it burns my ass", I bloody well mean it.

Does anyone get that it takes more money and administration to turn off my coverage and then turn it back on rather than just allow me to make my elections one month before going off payroll?

Anyway, it's all fixed now, and we are onto...

Stage 4 - Paying for health coverage at a time when we can last afford it.

Goddamn annoying, that's what it is.

Diary of an Ex-employee - Day 93.1

 

I am not a morning person. 

When I have to get up and go to work, I'm fine but, on weekends, and during the Dog Days of unemployment, just leave me in bed till 8:30.

Fluffy Bear is away, however, so I had to get up early to feed Puppy Dog and, in spite of trying hard to stay comatose, my brain woke up, so going back to bed wasn't an option.

So I plonked my irritable self on the sofa.

Then I heard a car horn.  It blasted.  Then it blasted some more.  Then it just kept going. 

Was someone beeping for a friend outside their house and was too damn lazy to go and ring the doorbell?

Was someone having a major road rage incident?

Whatever it was, I wasn't impressed.

I opened my front door, and let my feelings be known.  As you know, I can project my voice. 

"SHOOSH!" I boomed.

2 seconds after my yell, the horn beeped again.  Then again.  And again.

Were they mocking me? 

Oh, HELL no!

I stomped across to the bedroom, slapped a baseball cap over my bed hair, pulled a tracksuit top over my PJs, snapped the locks on the front door and barrelled outside to find the culprit and blurt the rude speech I'd been practising in my head.

And then I saw them.

Two guys in overalls bending over a very familiar looking car.

Our old clunker died yesterday.  They had come down from the garage to fix it.

My inner voice - never one to let me off easy - said:

"Good morning, Stoopid."

Diary of an Ex-Employee - Day 93.0

 

Things only the unemployed say to themselves:

"Do I really want that latte enough to actually get dressed and leave the house?"

"Goddammit I've watched everything I recorded on my DVR!  What now?"

"Why doesn't the video store have any new movies that I haven't watched already?"

"It's so nice that the coffee shop people know my name and my Usual."

"Wow, I'm really getting good at doing my own mani-pedi."

"Wow.  How long has that little crack in the ceiling been there?  I've never noticed that before..."

"It's A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush!!! What is WRONG with these people?  I could totally go on Wheel of Fortune!"

"GAH!  It's 5pm and I still have Bed Hair! ...  Hang on, as long as I don't look in the mirror, who cares?"

"Yeah, whatever, Lady.  This is my 15th interview in two months.  Your benefits are crap and I can tell you don't have any contracts on your books that suit my skills.  And these shoes are killing me.  Let's just wrap this up so I can get home and get back into my PJs and slippers."

"Who needs a hairbrush?  I have a baseball cap!"

"Damn! if I'd known my friend was gonna cover the bill, I'd have ordered hard liquor..."

"If one more person at a networking event tells me that 1000 people respond to a job ad in the first hour it's posted online, I shall bop them in the schnoz."

"I am going to win all 5 of these Lexulous games! I am getting SO good!  Yeah!"

"It's only 9am!  Shut the hell up out there, neighbors!!!"

Diary of an Ex-employee - Day 91.0

 

Wow.  Day 91.0.  Do you think I should throw a party on day 100?  All my employed friends would have to bring the drinks and snacks, though.  We're watchin' them pennies.

So... here's the thing.

I have a face to face interview this week.  And it's a job I really want. 

The company is nothing like my ex-employer.  They are in a different industry, they are completely customer service focussed (so much so that books have been written about them) and many of their staff are artistic people.

I am not artistic - my art lies in words.  But I love the idea of being around artistic people again. 

How many of us gave up creative pursuits to join the corporate world?  How many of us told ourselves it was just temporary, something to get a little money in the bank and then we'd be able to follow our hearts?  How many of us told ourselves that we can still be creative as a hobby, only to find we had neither the time nor the energy?

If you relate to that, raise your hand.  Mine is waving above my head right now.

I remember - once upon a time before the Plague - I worked in a bank.  I worked the night shift, and there were many actresses and artists in our team, because they wanted a well paying job to fund their real careers.  One of the guys got a painting into a local art show, so we all traipsed off to see it.  We walked through the art show peering at the labels on the walls, look for his name.  And then I saw it.  It was painting of this guy's world, his daily grind, probably what he saw in his dreams.  It was a pink and white computer keyboard. 

Because, see, that's the thing.  The corporate world takes over your life.  Even if you only do a dead end, night shift job, the corporate jaws snap, chew and spit your art out.

So, even if it is still the corporate world, the fact that this new job will mean there'll be people around me who think in color and texture and shape rather than bits and bytes, will be wonderful.

This means, of course, that I am utterly petrified that things will go wrong.

Wanting a job badly is kinda like having a crush in high school. 

You like him but - here's the really important part - does he like you back? And, if he does, how would you know?  Are there signs?

Here's where we get into female territory.  Over-analysis.  If you've seen the movie He's Just Not That into You, you'll know what I mean. 

Women are better than men at facial recognition and body language interpretation.  Perhaps it is because we give birth and breastfeed - therefore, in the caveman age, we had to look after our young.  So maybe that's when evolution taught us how to see signs in a little human who can't yet communicate with language.  is it hungry?  Is it hurt?  Is it hot?  Is it sick? 

Now we tap into our evolutionary tool bag and choose to use this skill to overanalyze every action, tone, posture of a potential suitor.

At high school:

• Omigod did he just smile at me?  Was it a real smile or a "I know you have a crush on me and I find it kinda flattering but I'm just not that into you" smile?
• Omigod he doesn't usually walk this way to class!  Did he come this way just to see me?  He knows where my locker is.  Maybe he took the longer route so he could ask me out?
• Omigod has he asked someone to the prom yet?  Should I accept Bob's invitation or wait to see if he asks me?  He ignored me yesterday on the bus.  Does that mean that he's self-conscious around me cos he likes me and he wants to get up the courage to ask me to the prom?

And on and on and on...

When job hunting:

• The job description is off the website - what does that mean?  Have they found someone?  Is the job no longer being funded?  Do they have so many candidates that they've taken the job off?
• The job is back on the website - what does that mean?  Have they rejected everyone from the first round, including me?  Is it a different job - do they need two people rather than one? 
• I haven't heard from them in a week - what does this mean?  Have they found someone?  Have they decided to take a different direction with this job and get a technical person in?  Are they about to be bought, taken over and their headquarters moved to some snowy state where everyone is half the price?
• They said the face to face interview was two hours and now they're saying just one hour - what does this mean?  Have they found someone else they really want to give the job to and so they're just paying lip service to me?  Have I got the job so this is a formality?  Or are they going to make a panel of five people to grill me to death in one hour, all at the same time?

And on and on and on...

And so I'm trying to prepare.  Do research, bone up on my resume, get my application form ready. 

Because that pimple faced, wet dreaming, voice breaking little twerp better ask me to the Prom.

Diary of an Ex-Employee - Day 86.0

 

It's too hot.  It's too damn hot.

Yes, I know there are other people who live in hotter places than I do.  Arizona, Texas, the Kalahari Desert.  Well - guess what? - they have air conditioning! 

OK, maybe not the whole Kalahari Desert.

But, still.

I am not set up for this kind of weather.  I lived in England, for God's sake - that's gonna thicken your blood and acclimatize you to the mild-to-wet-to-chilly continuum only.  Nothing else. 

Note the absence of the "Fucking hot" category on that scale.

So here are all the crazy things I've been doing to try to keep cool:

1. 3 cold showers a day
2. Standing outside in the yard, putting my finger over the spout of the hose to make a wide jet of water, pointing it up in the air and creating rain for myself
3. Dumping ice into tubs in front of the fan to make swamp coolers
4. Wetting my hair under the bathroom basin about 6 times a day
5. Going out to meet friends with a bandana on my head, which I could wet in the restroom and tie back on
6. Eating ice
7. Eating whole pints of sorbet
8. Sleeping with two fans pointed right at the bed
9. Prizing open every previously stuck sash window in our 1910 house that I can
10. Not caring if the neighbors see me walking around naked
11. Wading into the river at the park with Puppy Dog and his pals - my cellphone didn't like that one too much
12. Wetting T-shirts and then putting them on
13. Feeling my way around a dark house at night instead of turning on the lights - my left big toe, when it hit a door, didn't like that one too much
14. Wetting baseball caps and putting them on
15. Sitting in the car, aircon blasting, long after I've arrived at my destination - my petrol (gas) gauge didn't like that one too much
16. Driving around for ten minutes or more, looking for any parking in the shade close to my destination - the woman juggling her shopping cart and her baby, that I nearly ran into, didn't like that one too much
17. Buying 6 bags or more of ice at a time
18. Wetting towels and then lying down with them covering my whole body

And I'm still fucking hot.

Diary of an Ex-Employee - Day 72.0

Today may very well go down in history as the beginning of the end of my sanity.

For the first time in my life, I had a real OCD moment.

Not a mini-OCD moment, like when you think you've left the oven on as you are locking the front door, so you go back in just to check.

A real "I have to clean" OCD moment.

The day started with me going to the gym.  Our gym is in a strip-mall thing, and I decided to try and get one of the precious parkings out front, rather than go into the garage, where there are lots of empty bays.

Mistake No. 1.

So I get to the small parking lot and see one tiny parking and think: "Hey, I can squeeze into that."

Mistake No. 2.

I drive the car in, and the left wheel catches on the sidewalky bit.  Then I see that I am under the outside stairs, and there is a pipe hanging down over where my hood needs to be.  So I think "OK, I can't use this parking. 

But now my left front wheel is kinda stuck on the vertical bit of the sidewalky thing and so I need to get that loose before I can back out.  So I pump the gas a tiny bit.

Mistake No. 3.

Suddenly the wheel is free of the sidewalky thing and, in slow motion, the car luuuuuurches forward, the hood hits the pipe and the pipe scraaaaaapes the hood of the car.

Four inches of parallel grooves.  At one point, through the red paint to the grey gizzards of the car.

I get out of the car.  I look at the damage.  

Freak out No. 1.

Fluffy Bear is going to kill me - slowly and painfully.

Frack gym - I'm going home.

I go home.  I call the dealer about the scratch.  Not much help.

I do yoga to calm down.  I have an interview.  Standing strong in Warrior 1, 2, and 3 poses will help my confidence and still my mind.

It works.

I put Puppy Dog in the car, I put the address in the sat nav and we drive over to the interview.

I drive into the wrong strip mall office block. 

Mistake No. 4.

So now I am on the phone with the potential employer blabbing about being lost and not being able to find their building and I am parked next to the basketball court and can someone direct me?

"We don't have a basketball court," she replies.

Great first impression I made on her, then.

I find the right place... interview, chat, chat, bla, bla.

Not my dream job.

I head back out to the highway, and listen to my messages.  Turns out a dear friend of mine is in hospital.  

Freak out No. 2.

I call her, I drive to her house, I ring her doorbell, I call her again.

She's not released yet, someone is with her, she's going to be on her way home soon, all is fine.  

What I don't think I am adequately conveying here is the low-grade evil of niggling anxiety which flowed through this entire day.  And it wasn't just me.  Puppy Dog was utterly uncontrollable on the leash, bouncing around with manic energy.

I had started the day being growled at (really badly) by him when I touched his hind legs.  Three times.  So I'd set up an acupuncture vet appointment, more of which later.

I took Puppy Dog to the small downtown dog park, but didn't throw balls for him.  I didn't want him sprinting around when he had something odd going on with his legs.

So I am standing chatting to some other dog owners and I explain that he has something wrong with him, so I am laying off the tennis balls today.  So this guy - either deaf or dumb - picks up a ball and throws it for him and Puppy Dog chases it, skids, turns his body awkwardly... all the stuff he usually does.  But with sore legs.

Freak out No. 3.

Time to leave the dog park.

We head up to Hippieville, where I am going to see the vet acupuncturist.  In my mind, I visualize the route, remembering the right road.  Except my mind is seeing Seaville, not Hippieville, and I get totally lost.

Mistake No... what number is it now?  I've lost count.

Anyway, I wrestle with the sat nav in the car - if you don't have a definitive address, it doesn't want to help you get where you are going - and find which direction to head in.

We get there, I meet a friend for a drink, and realize my phone hasn't synched and I don't know the name, address or phone number of the vet I am supposed to be seeing.

Mistake No. 6.

Freak out No. 4.

My friend - let's call him Oliver - kindly Googles and Bings till we figure out where the hell I am meant to be going.

I head to the vet.  Puppy Dog gets acupuncture, and starts to calm down a little.  Then he grabs a needle out of his thigh, and we both immediately grab his mouth, but we think he might have eaten it.

So now I have killed my dog.

Freak out No. 5.

The vet talks to me about how the needle is very slim and bendy and tells me stories of other dogs who have eaten them and been just fine.

Yeah, whatever.

I go to the store to get canned pumpkin.  I need to feed this to Puppy Dog with bread so he has bulk to surround the perhaps-swallowed-needle and fibre to poo out the perhaps-swallowed-needle.  I feed the dog.  

I'll need to check his poo in the morning.

Oh, yay.

And then, out of nowhere, at 8:30 at night, the impulse to clean.  I clean the kitchen counters, the stove top, even behind the microwave.  Then I get down on my knees and scrub the kitchen floor.

Please understand that the only way I would ever contemplate such a thing was under extreme duress.  I hate cleaning.  

But there I am, manicure ruined, scrub-a-dub-dubbing, baby.

Oh.

See.

Dee.

Big time.

And it made me feel better.

And the kitchen looks clean for the first time in over a month.

And that's not such a bad thing, I guess.

As long as I never do that again, of course. 

Diary of an Ex-Employee - Day 69.0

I have always liked the French word "malaise". Irrespective of the dictionary defintion/translation, to me, the word has always meant something between "Disease" and "Ill at ease."

And that's really how I've been feeling this last week.

Before the 4th of July holiday, it felt like there was momentum, movement, progress. Interviews - even a tentative job offer.

Now it feels like everything has ground to a halt.

Of course that isn't really true - I have an interview this week - but my energy level is lower, networking seems to be drying up and I am resorting to online job board applications... and we all know how effective that is.

So what to do to shake out of the funk?

Going to the gym at 11 - that should help.

I should go to yoga - starts in 15 mins, I could make it if I hurried - but I am stuck to the couch.

OK, OK, I'll go!

Sheesh!

Ittybittycrazy has left the building

Later...

Well, as per usual, yoga has done the trick.

I prayed, at the start, for energy and forward momentum. And I got it.

It crystallized for me in the moment when we did Crow Pose. It's a pretty scary pose to get into.

"Don't think about going down," said the instructor, "think about moving forward."

And so I did. I got my head onto the block in front of me, balanced on my arms and, for a just a few seconds, got my head off the supporting block and felt "right" in the pose.

I have never got even close to that before with this pose.

YAY ME!

So now it's back home, preparing for tomorrow's phone interview. I've pulled out my Interview folder, full of answers I prepared two years ago to questions like "Tell me about yourself" and "If you could start your career from the beginning, what would you change?"

Also need to sit a while with my PMP Project Management manual, so the terms fly off my tongue like Jack Nicholson throwing up cherry pips in The Witches of Eastwick.

Wish me luck!

Diary of an Ex-Employee - Day 62.1

Isn't it great when a day turns around?

You start the morning with a tired feeling, bad news and that awful fear that can feel like a vice grip around the heart, but then you decide to do just one thing.

Just one thing.

And so off I went to yoga.

I am not into tree hugging hippie crap in general, but there is something about yoga. It may be a spiritual thing. It may be the connection between mind and body. It may be a simple as you putting your body into unnatural, new positions which then frees your mind to see thing from another perspective. Hell, it may even be magic.

Whatever it is... it works for me. I came out of a class feeling more balanced, calmer and ready to tackle the things I have to take on today.

There was an ever so slight dip at the coffee shop - to be described in more detail in the next post - but then I got my coffee fix and all was well with the world again.

And then I had a radio moment in the car. You know the ones I mean. Just the right song comes on the radio at just the right time. And they are speaking to you, Man.

This time it was Howard Jones and "Life in One Day"

The old man said to me

Said don't always take life so seriously

Play the flute

And dance

and sing your song

Try and enjoy the here and now

The future will take care of itself somehow

The grass is never greener over there

Time will wear away the stone

Gets the hereditary bone

Chorus

Don't try to live your life in one day

Don't go speed your time away

Don't try to live your life in one day

Don't go speed your time away

I choose not to try to interpret the "hereditary bone" bit.

Anyway, the point is, life feels OK again.

And now I'm going to apply for a cool looking job I found advertised yesterday.

Diary of an Ex-Employee - Day 62.0

 

 

I've been learning some very hard lessons in this job search.

 

And here's the major one:  Don't close any door.

 

Don't think that the job is in the bag and tell another interviewer that you have something and, unless they can match the salary, you're not interested.

 

Even if the offer has been made, and the official letter is "in the mail", keep every door open until you've signed on the dotted line.

 

Because, the next thing you know, someone has given an informal reference which you can't fight, concentrating on the problems in the project rather than the fact that you turned it around, and the job offer is on hold.

 

Then the second recruiter won't get back to you, and maybe the job has been filled. 

 

So you find yourself, on the day that should have been the first day of your new job, crying into your morning coffee and  being told by your husband that it may be a struggle to pay next month's rent.

 

Until the dog comes up to you with a orangutan soft toy in his mouth, looks up at you, sniffs your face and licks your ear.  

 

Then, and only then, can you get up and fight again.

 

Diary of an Ex-Employee - Day 46.0

Isn't being unemployed wonderful?  

You can do fun things like deal with the spider in the bathroom and clean out the fridge!

How rewarding to take all the jars and bottles of sauces and dressings and pastes off the top fridge shelf, divide them into Keep, Don't Keep, Omigod-where-did-you-come-from-an-archeological-dig and Welcome-to-the-world-new-life-form.

Then you get to wash out the ones you don't want anymore - what a varied experience!

First there are the ones that immediately sloosh with the water you put into them, loosening up as you put the cap back on and give them a good shake.  As you open the lid and tip the bottle upside down, the contents gladly accept their fate, diving happily to meet the garbage disposal.

Second, there are those that are a little more stubborn.  You shake and shake and turn the jar this way and that, and nothing happens.  Then, just as you are about to give up and try again, the jar decides it's a bit seasick from all that shaking and vomits out it's contents in one big blurp of strange liquid/solid smelliness.

Third, there are those that choose to defy physics.  You sloosh the water, you shake and shake but, when you turn the jar's rim to the sink, nothing.  "Ha-ha Gravity!" they say, "You cannot conquer my amazing powers of gloopiness!"  And so - joy of joys - the spoon or knife comes out and you have to stir and scrape then sloosh again.  You have to give these jars their props.  They don't let go easily.  That coagulation in there - he's been working out!

And last - but certainly not least - there is, in a special category all of its own, the stubborn lid.  The contents are liquid and could be disposed of quickly - if only you could get them out more than a drop at a time.  So you tug the lid, you twist the lid, you bite the lid.  Nothing.  

Next tactic - hack at the lid with a knife.  But the lid and the knife are in cahoots.  The lid just gives the knife a springboard so that, no matter what angle you hold it at, it can bounce off and fly at your nearest artery.

But, undeterred, you persevere.  And now the lid, the knife and the bottle gang up on you.  You hack.  The lid resists, the knife bounces, you flinch, the bottle slips.  

And the bottle's contents spray all over you.

You sigh.  Of course.

Because what you really want, first thing in the morning, is to smell of old fish sauce.

Diary of an Ex-Employee - Day 37.2

I don't always realize when I am stressed, and so I don't ask for help. To be fair, I don't give myself very clear signs that I am stressed, so I guess it isn't a big surprise that I just go off on my own and just try to handle things.

My stress indicators only occur to me when it's too late.

The first is being irritable and intolerant.

You only realize that it might have been a little unreasonable to shout at the guy in the SUV and accelerated to stop him from cutting in front of you, almost causing an accident, after you've driven for at least the next three blocks and simmered down.

The second is losing memory.

You only realize that you should have (a) printed out the appointment and the doctor's name and address, or (b) made sure you synched your phone with your Outlook on the PC, when you are standing in front of the Information Desk at the huge tower of medical offices, unsure where to go and you hear yourself say:

"Um, I don't know what the right word is for it. He's an ass doctor."

Diary of an Ex-Employee - Day 37.1

The other day I had to stop off at the store for a few groceries and, like I always do, I drove out via the alleyway.

The store is on our main road in this part of town - we aren't downtown, so this wasn't an alley between tall buildings and, one street back from the store, there are houses.

I came out from behind the store onto the street, ready to turn right, when I looked straight ahead. The alleyways between the houses seemed to stretch out infinitely in front of me. I had to go seven blocks over, then two blocks to the right to get home.

"What the hell," I thought. "Forget the main road. I'm taking the alleyways."

And so, very slowly, I edged across the street and into the first alley.

Driving along the alleys gave me a completely different perspective on roads I drive every day. I noticed houses I'd never really looked at properly before, and saw them from the back - a very different view.

And the alleys themselves were like a little world of their own. There was:

• the artist sitting at an easel, painting, in her garage, her works hung all over the walls
• the garage painted bright yellow, with brown edging (different)
• the obviously well used basketball hoop
• the tree, so tall and so old that the roots had completely lifted the road like a mini-earthquake
• the guy doing DIY in his garage wearing funky eye protecting goggles
• the elderly lady bending over her flower beds, wearing gardening gloves and trowel in hand
• the messy trash cans, the neat and clean trash cans, the house that creates so much trash they had a mini-dumpster our back.

I felt, for the five minutes I drove home that way, like I had peeked through my neighbor's curtains and discovered a little bit more about them.

It was fascinating.

Diary of an Ex-Employee - Day 37.0

Yesterday my therapist, She's So Lovely, asked me an interesting question.

I was describing a potential contract job I've been put forward for and another interesting role I've applied for in a completely different industry.

"Could you," she asked, "work a four day week?"

I blinked. "Well," I said, "in a way, I have been. I used to work most Fridays from home."

"Not the same thing," she said. "You were still working, right?"

"Sure," I said, thinking back to the fact that Fridays could often be the most productive day of my week.

She went on to tell me that depression, anxiety, stress - all these things are often caused by a sense that we don't have control over our own lives.

If you have just that one day a week that is yours - to do something creative, to see friends, to go to a dance class - it can make a big difference in your ability to deal with characteristics of corporate jobs like pressure, ambiguity, politics, empire-building, resistance to change, the blame game and lack of work/life balance.

It's a very tempting thought, but I wonder if any employer would go for it?