The Scamp is Restless

Day 400, 615 of lockdown and I have lost the plot. I’m tired of being inside, tired of having my holidays cancelled and tired of only having myself for company. I am lucky that people video chat, call and even stand outside my window so I can make some human connection.

I miss my friends. I miss hugging people. I actually sorta miss my commute to Glasgow….okay, not really that last one. I do not miss being tired at night or up so early in the morning.

I’m feeling so restless that I spend a good amount of time looking for new places to live. I’ve been in my current flat for almost 5 years. This is the longest I have lived anywhere since I was 18 years old. That and the lack of actually being able to travel has made me really itchy and anxious to move. The problem is, I’ve really fit myself into this place. I compare everything I look at to this place in terms of space, location and safety…and not much compares for what I am paying.

But I am tired of living in a shabby place. I keep it clean, but the furniture (minus the bed and mattress) is at least 6 or 8 years old. The bathroom is out of date. The toilet leaks, the bathtub is sad and everything is just a depressing shade of beige (I’ve been hearing for 5 years that it is going to get redone, but it hasn’t happened). The electrical in this place is possibly illegal and of dubious safety and my washer is temperamental on the best of days. Right now, with 50 mph winds, my curtains are blowing in both rooms and I can feel the breeze (both windows are closed and locked, but are single glazed and need some work). None of these things really bothered me until I was forced to spend 23 hours a day here.

Which makes me want to move. I want something new, something fresh, managed by people who are interested in caring for their property and the furniture. I want something bigger. Something I am not embarrassed by. If you have ever tried to find a new place to live during lockdown, let me tell you, it is about as easy as trying to read a book in language you don’t speak while you are blindfolded in the dark.

I hate this feeling. I hate feeling restless, I hate not being able to really go outside, and I really hate not being able to travel. These feelings are all being compounded by my favourite place in the world: Napier.

After all of the fun with Napier while I was trying to work on the PhD, being screwed over waiting for the viva date, the horrible viva, and then rewriting an entire PhD in six months, I have yet to hear whether I have passed or not. One of my examiners is over a month late in reading my work, so no graduation for me….at least not for now.

This waiting, this limbo has kept me from enjoying anything. There is a chance they will reject my new work and I don’t get a PhD. There is a chance that they give me another 6 months of corrections, and there is a chance that they finally see that the first thing I published was a piece of shit written at the direction of someone who has no business supervising students on PhDs. To say that I am angry is an understatement. This feeling is keeping me from feeling motivation to do my job, to write some articles for publication, and do really do anything that I thought I would be doing at this point post PhD. I have weight that is not being lost, sleep that is not restful, and an attitude that is not positive.

I don’t like this feeling. I want to be happy. I want to do yoga. I want to write for fun. I want things that I’ve worked hard for to be recognized. I’d like a permanent contract at work and a promotion so I can make my loan payments, not have to pay heaps of money every 6 months for a visa and the uncertainty of this temporary contracts.

The one thing about this is that the weather is getting better, it is lighter later which means I can go for walks and avoid most people, and there are baby animals everywhere! The swans have had a successful batch of babies (7 little swanletts bopping around) and today’s walk was 2 different set of mini quacks learning to dive for food. There is nothing better than seeing little fluffy baby ducks learning to be ducks.

9 weeks down. 5 weeks to go.

Some of you better start preparing for the massive hugs you are about to get….you’ve been warned.

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