One month ago today I was a 24-year old, out, seeing the world. Doing something with my life. Today I'm an unemployed 25-year old that still lives at home. How the fuck did I fall so far so quickly?
It's amazing how volatile my life is. Because this little revelation needing some retard-procedure on a knee that I've been walking around fine on for 18-months, proceeded to change the entire shape of my life for the next 3 months. And by that I mean that before then, I was about to head back to Peru via Paraguay to spend the next three-months travelling South and Central America with a girl that I love, and instead I find myself now stuck in London doing... fuck-all.
It's not just my life it impacts. Lilach was waiting for me in Peru as well. And on hearing this, we were talking very seriously about how instead, she'll cut-short her time in South and Central America and come over here for a month or six-weeks; however much we can muster. Stay with me for that time, and we'd probably spend a proportion travelling through Europe as well.
We hadn't got around to booking flights. But that was how it was looking like it was going to happen. I was expecting to need to be in Utah in the first-week of December so we could make it work.
Scrap that because I get an email from Utah two days ago. It says in it, uncomfirmed, but they're planning on having the first training session for "experienced only" lift-operators on November 16th.
That's me. I'm experienced. This little email just changed everything. Again.
I was initially happy about it. I'm fucking bored out of my mind in England right now. Can't get a job because with this knee-stuff looming, I don't fucking know how much time this is all going to take. And up until this point I'd been expecting Lilach to be coming over, of which I would want to be apart from her for absolutely none of. Particularly to go to "work". So getting a job... no.
And then I kind of felt bad about her cutting short her time in South America as well. This would work-out perfectly because it would mean that we could arrange flights to coincide us both being in New York together for a couple of weeks, and neither of us would have to be significantly altering our plans. It was perfect right?
The more that I thought about it though, the less and less happy I got. Because ever-since I'd found out that I need knee-surgery, and I guess even before then, everything that I do here, everything that I'm doing, I'm thinking about 'us'.
I go to the park and see all the deer and I'm just thinking... I can't wait until she comes over and I can bring her here. Or I see a pub that I think she'll like or a nice view or a nice walk. I can't even watch TV because I'd see a comedian for example, and be thinking if I take her to see him in London. Or I cook a meal and all I'm thinking is I can't wait until she's here and I can cook this for her.
Everything... everything was about her. And I was just so looking forward to her being here. Showing her everything. The amount of things that I've thought about she could probably be here for a year and we'd never run out of things that I wanted to do.
And then we were going to go to Paris. Because that's always been a dream of hers (don't fucking ask me why). And it took a little while to sink in, that this two-week difference in my start-dates in Utah, it suddenly made all of this evaporate. All of these things that I'd been fantasising about doing with her, they all suddenly disappeared.
And where we'd previously been planning on staying together at least until she came over, suddenly two weeks together in New York sandwiched between a four-month and a six-month spell apart, all of a sudden didn't feel like so much.
That's the vast majority of a year, in which we'd see each other just two weeks. That's not a relationship. That's not a relationship.
The volatility of my life continued to play havoc with my emotions. A tiny piece of loose cartilage had changed everything once. Now this two-week swing in start-dates in Utah had changed everything again. I'm going fucking insane right now. Because all these tiny, little things that really shouldn't have any significant impact on a person, are changing my whole life. It's changing whether or not I can stay with the girl that I love for fuck's sake.
So I'd gone from being happy. I'm bored here in England. Not working, not travelling, no gym. To realising that this two-week swing, it just changed everything all over again. And not for the better.
Just tied to London unable to do anything because of this knee had changed everything. And the reality is that now, with these new start dates and seeing Lilach in New York instead of London, I aim to be flying-out in just over two-months. Can I even fucking get the surgery done in that time? Because being fine for the last 18-months, I will go to Utah with a retarded-knee before I'll reject this job to get it fixed. Also potentially meaning that I cancelled my flight to Paraguay and stayed in London an extra two or three months, for a surgery that I didn't even get.
My life is so volatile right now. Every fucking tiny decision is impacting me. Just imagine if last-week there hadn't been a cancellation at the doctor's. I would have proceeded to email Utah and tell them that I'll be picking-up my visa in, fucking Panama City or something.
Some random person I don't even know, cancelling a doctor's appointment. Changed everything. A stupid little piece of knee cartilage. Changed everything. Why is the training for Utah going ahead so early now? Perhaps a predicted early snowfall. Then a fucking weather-report 5,000 miles away. Changed everything. I'm fucking going mental with this shit. I don't know if I'm coming or going. Just waiting for someone in fucking Kazakhstan to sneeze and it'll all change again.
Jesus Christ.
Anyway, you know me and Lilach, we had to talk. We had to kind of figure out what we were doing. If we were still a we. Or if seeing each other for just two-weeks over a ten-month period was just too much to take.
This had been killing me ever since I'd found out that I needed the knee surgery. The only thing in my life that I can ever recall losing sleep over. I'd basically been depressed ever since. Because I didn't know what it meant for us. It wasn't what it meant for us that was killing me. It was just that I didn't know.
It was going to hurt if we decided that we couldn't stay together. But just... almost expecting it to happen, that was even worse.
We talk virtually everyday. Have done since I got back to England. For three or four hours sometimes. Facebook messages as well, so it's not like we don't know what each other's thinking. And this revelation that we were going to be able to meet just in New York for a bit, rather than in London and travelling Europe for four or six weeks. I was almost scared to talk. I didn't know how it was going to end.
And... well we decided that it was too much. Seeing each other just two-weeks out of ten-months, it was too much. To commit to someone over that period of time, even if we're as perfect as we are, it was too much.
We kind of... we kind of decided that we had to separate. But it wasn't how I'd imagined it. I'd been so scared of it happening that this moment had run through my head thousands and thousands of times. The moment that we split. Because ever since finding out about my knee we knew that it was possible. But it wasn't like that. It wasn't how I'd imagined it.
We kind of said, ok. It's too much. That's too long. We're still going to meet in New York. We're still going to talk all the time. Probably everyday. When I finish the season in Utah, we're still going to meet. Most likely in Israel, then perhaps Europe. Then maybe we go to Asia or New Zealand or something. Because both of us still want to travel. Come... April I guess, when I finish in Utah, we'll see where each other is. And... yeah.
I'd always imagined this moment killing me. Becoming the second time over the last decade that I've been reduced to tears. But the way that it happened, the way that we did it, I was almost happy. Because for the first time since I got the MRI results, I actually knew about us. I knew what it was that we were doing.
We'll meet in New York for two weeks. It'll be amazing. Then we'll separate for six-months. And then somehow and somewhere six-months later we'll be back together.
Maybe because it's just a temporary break-up I suppose, it didn't hit so hard. But we sorted this out, and still sat there talking for more than two hours more. And then we're going to talk again tonight. We're going to meet in New York for two weeks. I don't know. We're not a couple anymore. But we didn't break-up either. Just, kind of, separated for a while.
We were friends before we were ever a couple. And from the moment we met she was someone that I could talk about anything with. And... I don't know. I always imagined that when I lost her as a girlfriend then I'd lose her as my best-friend as well. And I don't know that I could handle losing both. But... the way that we left things. I can still talk to her everyday. I can still tell her everything. We'll still talk all the time, we'll still be close. And then nine-months from now I'll finish in Utah...
We did even talk about her coming out and we'd live in Utah together. But it doesn't seem to be feesible with visas. But... everything's still a dream now. All the things that I imagined us doing together. They're still all real. All the things that I thought we'd be doing here in London. They're still real. Going to Paris. That's still unfortunately real.
The way that she said it to me yesterday: We're separating but we're not breaking-up.
That's kind of a nice way of putting it. I know that we'll still talk all the time, she'll still be my best friend. But I suppose without the pressure of being in a relationship together, 7,000 miles apart or whatever the fuck it is.
You know yesterday, I started writing a blog entry. But I couldn't even finish it because everything that I was writing was just depressing me. Everything was just... shit. The not-knowing of whether or not we were going to break-up was killing me. And I was bored. I'd struggled to get up yesterday morning because I literally had no reason. But, today you know, it might be raining outside. But it feels like for the first time in a week that the sun's come out. Because it's the first time since getting these MRI results that I actually know what's happening.
I have an (unconfirmed) idea about when it is that I'll be starting in Utah. I know what's happening with me and Lilach. And I'm happy with it as well. This is honestly the first day in a week that I've actually woken-up happy. The contrast in this blog and the one that I started writing yesterday is just night and day. I think that if I put yesterday's online it wouldn't be long before the men in white coats came calling and put me in a padded room because of suicidal tendencies.
Ok that's exaggerating a bit. But honestly, this is the first day in a week that I'm actually happy about. That I actually got out of bed this morning because I wanted to get out of bed. Not just because I had to pee.
I kind of almost feel liberated in a way, that I know where I am for once. I know what's happening.
And you know, maybe I'm imagining this. But I always hold the view that bad things happen to people that are expecting bad things to happen. And for the way that things have gone recently, I've just been scared that more and more bad things are going to happen. And when I was doing things like going to the supermarket, I would pick-out the trolley that had the wobbling wheel.
That's not what I do. Other people are the people that get the bad trolleys. I'm the person that doesn't have to look when I play pool because the ball's going to end up in the pocket regardless. I get nice shiny new trolley at the supermarket, just by accident. I get extra leg-room when I catch a plane. Just because it's me. That's the way it works. That's me. That's just who I am.
Yet all this shit that's been going on lately, I'd lost so much confidence that... I went to the supermarket the other day. I got the fucking trolley with the shit wheel. Me. That shit doesn't happen to me. And I know it was just because I was so scared about bad things happening, that bad things were happening.
Today I'm happy. Today I went to the supermarket. You think that I got a bad trolley?
The fuck I did. Because today's the first day that I felt happy and that bad things aren't going to happen. This shit only happens when you think that it's going to happen. And you know what? Today for the first time, I just feel good. I know that bad things aren't going to happen.
Bollocks to you if you think that it's a fucking coincidence.
Well now I'm back here, I did something that I really didn't think that I'd be doing anytime soon. I bought a fucking mobile phone.
More than a year now, more than a year, I've been free. Liberated from this fucking bullshit. And then for some reason, and I honestly did it without thinking, I went onto eBay, I bid a nothing amount of money for a second-hand mobile not expecting to win it. And then bam. Two days later and I'm the proud owner of a Motorola KRZR or whatever the fuck it's called. And I've got a fucking phone again.
The second that I put that bid on I fucking regretted it.
For over a year I've been free, basically. You know, I loved not being at the beck and call of anyone that holds my number. I wasn't a slave to a little fucking device that I held in my pocket. I loved it. Not having a mobile. I could actually feel alone what I wanted to be. And it was so nice for more than a year, to not fucking have to think about my fucking mobile phone. And then without fucking thinking, I've bought this fucking phone. It's one of the stupidest things that I've done. I own a fucking mobile again.
And I know that it's going to sound melodramatic that I say this. But I think a little piece of my died when I turned it on. All of this time of being free and it was all of a sudden... poof. Gone.
I can't even look at it. I don't want to have to carry it around with me wherever I go for every fucking second of my life from this point until the day that I die.
And call me crazy. But having been away from phones for over a year, I'm pretty sure that when I turned it on I could feel the radiation seeping into my brain. I literally turned it on and just felt dumber.
Fucking nightmare. I can't believe that I did that.
And you know what else? Well before I'd got the results of my MRI and I still thought that I'd be flying out to Paraguay on September 1st, I decided that, you know, as a good way of keeping in touch with people that I meet and as a way of promoting this website, and more importantly because I found a company that charged £2.99 per 100, that I'd get some business cards printed.
So now, with all of the travelling people that I'll meet in fucking Twickenham, I have a rather large stack of jrosworld.com business cards that I have to distribute.
It was only a week ago that I found out the results of my MRI. And already I have a mobile phone and business cards. This is fucking bullshit. I'm turning into a normal person again. It's disgusting.
Oh and one more little thing that could go onto impact my life a bit:
I don't normally gamble. Gambling's for people who's life's are so shit that they have to do something brainless to make it more exciting. However for a rare occasion, and because I got 7/1 odds, I decided to put £25 on Everton to finish in the top 4 of the premier league this season. Seems like a sure-thing. And seeing as I only place a bet about once every two years, whenever I do, I open-up an account with a new bookmaker because you get welcomed in with a "new customer special offer" that has to be at least doubling your money to make me willing to sign-up.
So I sign-up. Make my bet. And then with my free £25, was going to bet at the great odds of 150/1, for Everton to win the premier league. Probably not going to happen. But you never know. And well... I thought that I had read all the fine-print of this special introductory offer. But I neglected to digest the term that your free £25 will be credited at the settlement of your initial bet. Meaning that I don't get my free money until May. So...
I just want to go on the record and say, that if Everton win the league this season, this tiny little term and condition will have cost me £3,750. I just wanted to make that known now. Just in case people don't believe me.
That I was the muppet that didn't make the bet to win £3,750.
Well in among all the shitness that's been transpiring lately, there is a silver-lining. I still haven't lost the ability to blag... anything.
I was kind of hoping that these planned strikes by BAA workers would be going ahead on the day that I was supposed to fly back to Paraguay. That way it might make it easy for me to get a refund on my flights. But seeing as they've all been a bunch of dicks and resolved their differences and called off the strikes, I was going to have to take matters into my own hands.
I didn't expect to get fucking anywhere. But I called up the company that I booked my flights with, citing medical reasons as to why I could no longer take my return flight to Paraguay. And I was told that because I didn't buy their stupid-little insurance, and that this was a non-refundable flight, I wouldn't be able to get anything. But seeing as it was a medical-emergency (I didn't say that, they did. I just didn't correct them) then I was going to get put through to the supervisor to see if there could be an exception.
And anyway, she ends up calling the airlines and arranging a waiver on the 'non-refundable' clause of this flight. And although I have to wait for 45-days to see if it actually materialises, barring a $200 fee, I should be getting a refund on this flight due to a medical emergency. Fucking genius.
All I did was say that I needed to stay for medical reasons. And they concluded the rest. But somehow, I should be getting a refund on this non-refundable flight, due to a medical emergency. Fucking genius. Goes to show that it's always worth asking.
It was kind of like when I booked this flight, I was charged for the flight by my bank, and I was charged a further £7.40. I don't really know what this was for, but it turns out that it was a completely legitimate charge. Anyway, I didn't know this at the time, so all I did was email my bank asking for clarification on this £7.40. And without any questioning at all, they proceeded to refund this completely legitimate charge to my account. All because I asked for clarification on it.
Makes me think that this stems from when I complained to them so much, threatening to close my account and all this bullish six-months or so ago, and they ended up refunding me a charge that was levied by a different institution (I don't know how I pulled that one off), that I got black-listed or something.
I think there must be a little note next to my account now; "Do not negotiate. Irrate customer." Because they just gave my back £7.40 that they had every right to take from me. It's fucking genius. It's amazing what you can get if you have the balls to ask for it.
This is now the second time that HSBC have given me money that they have no reason at all to give to me. And it's looking like this "medical emergency" (taking a stupid bit of cartilage out of my left knee), will prove sufficient to get a refund on my non-refundable flight. I love it. You can get anything if you ask for it in the right way.
Well one of the more depressing things about potentially flying out for Utah in two-months instead of three, is that I now don't have the time to get a gym membership (three-months minimum). So it's lucky that I "built" the Jro Gym. So I'm going to be kind of bored for the next couple of months by the look of it. So to keep myself entertained, I've decided to dip my toes into the world of computer programming. Going to learn how to use javascript for two months if I can't go to the gym. So we'll see how that pans out. Might end up meaning that (just like last year) I decide to rewrite the entire code for this website from scratch.
Might not. I might not fucking understand it. But... that's the plan. Can't go to the gym, so I'm going to become a computer programmer instead. Because they're the same.
I shouldn't be happy now. I shouldn't be happy. Me and Lilach are separated and she's not coming over to Europe. I can't join a gym. If I'm unlucky I might not even have the time to get my knee surgery before starting working in Utah, which is the only fucking reason that I'm in this country right now. Everything that I was looking forward to is gone. But for some reason, for the first time since getting the MRI results, I am happy. I guess because for the first time, I actually know what's going on.
We're going to meet in New York and it's going to be perfect. All being well I'll have started working in Utah three-months from now. I'll have had knee surgery. And... well it's amazing what you can do with a pink, ladies yoga ball. I'll somehow manage to get into shape as well. For the first time things are feeling good. And everyone's going to live happily ever after.
Today just has a good feeling about it.