I’ve just spent the last hour and a bit doing a series of tests online for a possible job. They were the usual stuff, tests on language, numeracy and spatial ability, as well as a round of behavioural questions. These tests are one of the few things I ever get anxious about. I’ve done a bunch of them over my career, and have always done well – and so I’ve ever anxious to maintain the stellar record. There’s a job in it too, maybe, which perhaps adds a tad to the anxiety. I’m sure I did fine.
In any case this is indicative of movement. Right now my life feels a bit like what you see when you look into a kaleidoscope. There are mysterious patterns that which, when you rotate it again, transmogrify into different, but equally mysterious patterns. There’s a lot of emerging patterns, but I’m yet to figure out what they mean.
I seem to be always on the cusp in recent times. Lately it’s been on the cusp of disaster. That remains true as I sit here writing this. The other side of it, however, is the potential for redemption.
I’ve been finagling crazily for the last 6 weeks. As always, it’s taken a lot longer and been more torturous than expected. It was meant to get done the end of September, then last week, now the bureaucracy tells me the end of the month. In the meantime I’m trying to charm and coerce people into coming to the party. If it works out I get a decent stash of cash to stuff into my wallet; if it doesn’t I get zip. On this edge thus does my life balance.
I thought I was finished last week. I had a deadline to meet on the one hand, but required information on the other to achieve it. In the middle are the people demanding the info to make their decision. The information was not forthcoming, which required some quick scrambling and perhaps a little begging. I got a stay of execution on the one hand. And on the other I think I’m close to dragging a buyer over the line, but at the cost of a discount.
Do I need it? I need it big time.
I have zilch in my pocket. So little in fact that I can’t attend the buck’s party Saturday I actually organised. I have unpaid bills and no food and all the normal stuff I’ve become accustomed to, but weary of.
On top of that I’m definitely out of this place by the end of next week. I need to find some place to live, but without money in my pocket the options are few. Worse case scenario I sleep in the car with Rigby (presuming car hasn’t been re-possessed). I think I can do better than that.
I actually think I’ll seal a deal, touch wood, though it may not be in time for the buck’s party. I’ll have money finally, which buys me space and time. Hopefully.
I’ve got a potential house-sitting option, but that’s minus Rigby. Can I do that? Not really. He’s my family. Can I do it temporarily? I don’t know. He’s all I have.
That’s where the potential job comes into it. I met on Monday with the people I’ve been in discussion with for yonks about me coming on board as a kind of consulting partner. It was a good meeting (I’m surprised how I manage to present so well still given my generally abject state). I met the principle and his wife. The meeting came about at my nagging insistence, and I seemed to control the agenda. They seemed very happy and gave voice to the great opportunities ahead and how they saw me figuring in that. All smiles and yes, we agreed, start on Monday week – pending the psyche evaluation.
Now I fully expect to pass the evaluation with flying colours and to walk in the door there in 10 days time and get going. The catch is that I’m not on salary. They’ll pay for my time, which will only be when they send me out on sales meetings, if and when. Otherwise it’s up to me to develop business opportunities in concert with their staff. Pick the eyes out of their existing client base looking for opportunities, and promote me and my services to their subscribers. If work comes out of that it’s all mine – $270 an hour.
It’s hard to know what to expect from that. It could go through the roof, or it could flatline. I think longer term it might be an excellent deal, but short term it will be a struggle. What it means though is that if I can make it work even in a small way then I can consider getting my own place again, assuming my finagling pays off. In other words, there’s the potential for me to be living in either my own place, or shared, with my furniture about me, my bed, a kitchen all mine, and Rigby snuggling into my lap. That might be pushing it a bit, and even best case scenario can’t see it happening much before Christmas, but it’s a definite possibility. And, beyond that, a probability.
So that’s where I’m at. Right now pretty fraught still, and the distinct possibility of being separated from Rigby and homeless in my own right. But there’s hope to. I just have to work it, and it might just pay off finally.
Hell, the sun’s shining, I’m full of beans, and though the ticking clock might turn out to be a time bomb, I’m feeling pretty positive.