30.5.17

Goodbye, Michael

Things run out. Last time I checked in, I was slapped onto the departmental payroll in some sort of short term project. That ran out when March ended. I then had a deal to come work for a wonderful, down-to-earth professor for half a year, still in the same place, but things were looking pretty bleak perspective wise. So I hang around for a few more months, and then what?

As 2016 bled into 2017, a coworker on the project that ran out was job hunting. I wasn't occupying myself with that as I figured I'd look after my half year thingamabob was up, but then he found a surprisingly promising looking position. Very cutting edge technology, phenomenal institution, a dream job really. Applications were open for a long time, with the clause that the offer would be taken down once a suitable applicant was found. What did Rumpy do? Apply immediately? Hell no. I only felt 80% qualified, so I waited until the very last day the ad was up and applied then, knowing they didn't get anyone good so they might take me. A coward is me! They somehow ended up taking me on for the job, in spite of me messing up every single thing I could during the interviews. At least it's a simple case of caveat emptor, I let them know of every last one of my shortcomings along the way, so they can't pin it on me when I fail spectacularly at something I warned them I have no predispositions to do. Nevertheless, this job is somewhere else.

As such, it is time to relocate. Today marks the beginning of the final step of that trek, which involved struggling with a competitive housing market, all sorts of bureaucracy, a visibly disinterested and sloppy referencing company, strep throat, furnishing a flat for the first time in my life... a van is going to roll up around 3pm, I'm going to load up the worldly possessions I didn't fill the bin with, and we're going to go. Tomorrow I get internet and a van full of IKEA packages to ram into functional furniture. It's all militaristically planned. I'd lie if I said I wasn't stressed, but it's a calm, collected sort of stress. They know what they got into, and I've got a track record of handling prior professional arrangements just fine. Ironically, the thing that's causing me the most pain (apart from the fact I absolutely despise moving), is the fact I have to leave my current town behind.

It's a bit of a cruel twist of fate, really. When I came here in 2012 I hated it. I imagine it's largely a psychological thing because I was also making a mountain out of a molehill (easy to say that in hindsight, though) and thinking I was barely keeping my head above water in a raging storm as I did 80% of my PhD in my first year. As such, I developed a hatred of the archetypical British red brick house, and never noticed the niceness around me until like 3 years in. I was beyond miserable until the lab mates lured me out of my corner and into some form of social interaction. And then, once I got a job and not a PhD, I calmed down even more. Things really "clicked" once I found a lovely little bakery and had good bread for the first time on this island about half a year ago. And just as I settled in, roof windows and everything, I have to up and leave and repeat this process? What sort of hell is this?

You could liken my current feelings for my surroundings to the middle of season 7 of The Office. That part where it becomes apparent Michael will have to leave. I never really cared for the character, but only around that part in the series does it become apparent what role he really has, in no small part thanks to some rather gratuitous writing that paints him in a better light. After having taken my current "Michael" for granted, I only begin to appreciate it as I have to leave it all behind and go to a new place again. I'm reasonably sure I'll settle there quicker than I settled here - I won't have the deep psychological turmoil (documented all too well on these pages) of the beginning of my UK excursion, and the new lab mates went to get a bite to eat with me the very night I arrived in the city for a meeting earlier in the month. It'll probably take a couple months to get everything in order, and I'll likely be fine. Still, it's kind of bittersweet that this godforsaken shithole which I used to loathe so much has actually made its way into my heart and I'll actually have somewhat fond memories of it. Time heals all the wounds. I won't remember screaming at walls at 3am, shaking, disassociated from reality. I'll remember learning to cook, making my own band who played my songs and liked them, getting decent at small talk over steak in a little rural steakhouse. I'll remember the weird, dried up charm that swoops over even the ugliest of UK red brick streets towards the end of September, the very time of year I arrived, dog tired, from a super early flight. And then proceeded to get lost on the way to my house, having my knees buckle in a supermarket as I found out that I was given directions for the wrong street all along. Back then, it was hell. Now it feels like a fun little adventure in hindsight. I'll likely have many other "adventures" like that, but armed with the knowledge that things tend to work out allows me to approach them with a slightly clearer head and stress less. It will all be fine in the end.

Other developments? I've started actively losing weight. In the summer of last year, I hit triple digit body mass and decided that enough is enough. I'm now 20kg lighter, and have stalled for the past few weeks as I've stress eaten like a motherfucker over this whole move and new job period. I'll get back on track. I found some cool music. I got an underground as hell band to make a bandcamp page with their music on a name your price basis by writing them - a wonderful little variation on the old Paraxism story (although I did write Paraxism like they were gods, while I wrote these guys like they were just everyday humans). I recorded guitars for an album. Things aren't bad. But excuse me, for now it's time to continue hopping over to the other side. Later gator!