Friday, 4 February 2011

Eternal House Hunt.

(Roman: Four months old and crying because I am such a lame wad when it comes to being on time.)

A few weeks ago we went to look at a house - which was tiny, totally overpriced and the promises of a garden went unfulfilled.

That experience was not fun. First of all we dared to show up five minutes late. If you know my husband you'll know that being late is a cardinal sin and if you know the Kirks, and more specifically, if you know Daddy Kirk then you'll know what I'm about to say next...

I'm not an early bird. I hate early mornings, I hate deadlines (but I am learning to keep to them these days) and although I don't hate being on time - I never am.

I'm the kind of girl who will shout out that I have my clothes on when I'm still in bed. I'm the kind of girl who turns up very, very, very late to their own wedding - I think it was an hour? 

I'm terrible at being on time. And I'm going to blame my Dad on that one. Sure, I could take the responsibility upon myself seeing as I'm now over the age of 18 - but where's the fun in that? Plus I think I missed the whole "it's all your fault my life sucks" stage when I was a teenager so I'll regress and have it now ;).

On this day we went to see the teeny tiny house (and not in a cute, quaint Scottish way. In a teeny tiny trying to screw money from us every way) we were late. If you have ever dealt with Estate Agents you'll know they're notorious for time keeping - I think I should consider a career in this field. However, on this day, the Estate Agent was there. And she was not happy with our time keeping.

I know I'm going to reel off a huge story about how awkward it was and how obviously annoyed she was - and how that then got my back up - and I know that B will read this and say; "She wasn't annoyed/it wasn't awkward/I can't believe you're admitting a weakness."

So I won't reel off that story, you know the skeleton of the story by now anyway. That experience sucked. And what sucked more about it was that we currently rent our place from that Estate Agent. And while I have a list as long as my arm about their "customer service" (or there lack of) I won't get into that either. 

I'm getting really fed up of even looking for a new place. We turn up somewhere, go through the process of the hard sale (or not, in some cases) and they ask us a bunch of questions about our "situation" and don't look too impressed when either one of us mentions that we're both out of work (long story and those who know us know the ins and outs.) Some of the Agents try to hide their disappointment when we tell them this and some just wear it on their sleeve.

Fair enough, our society has spent long enough building up the stereotype of the unemployed, so I don't blame their reactions but it does make me feel like I've had a kick in the guts. I'm thrown into the pile of all the other people who don't work.

I have a kid and I have an illness which has made my whole life hell and made work really difficult whenever I have had a job - so to even consider something now is way beyond anything I could handle but I keep thinking of ways around it.

Like; "Maybe I could work part time." I can't even get out of my house on a weekly basis.

I keep thinking to myself; "I've done this before, why can't I do it now?"

My responsibilities were less when I could just about manage things - and even then I was holding on by the tips of my fingers.

I don't want to just cement over the cracks.

I feel as though working is tied in with us getting a better place to live, but then I would have to work full time and I have no passion or desire for most level entry jobs - plus I know I do not have the energy, stamina and health to deal with that kind of workload. I'd start up the job and within three weeks I'd be gone; like every other entry-level thing I've done before.

I have worked with babies and children but I wouldn't get into that now - I can't offer my best and I wouldn't want someone to look after my child knowing they were as sick as I was, so it's not fair.

I sometimes feel absolutely horrible. That somewhere in the World there are families scraping together a living working in landfill sites or something. And then I think, but if I did that, I'd probably be dead. I'd have probably not even survived past twenty. 

Is that why I was born into a Western society? And what is the purpose of my life when it's filled with all these complications?

I don't know if I opted to come to Scotland in the pre-existence, but if I did then I'm glad of it. Not because of how things are now, but because I wouldn't swap being here for anything. If I wasn't born here - would I have met Bryan? Had Roman? 

And these complications have always been around. Sure, they've always been confined to me - as in I only had to look after myself - but are they really any more complicated now? Many people know the misery that is unemployment. Why am I so different? 

What makes my pain, tears, suffering and head aches over this situation any different than anyone else?

I'm nothing new when it comes to statistics and when I dreamt too vast and too far in my teens I should have spent my time being realistic with myself - instead of thinking, hoping and believing I would be a best selling author, an ambassador to young, vulnerable and troubled girls or even a counsellor - I really wanted to be a counsellor when I was younger. Possibly to restore happiness and harmony in others where I was lacking it.

I sometimes don't understand God.

Why did he create me? 

Why does he slow everything down for me and speed it up for others? (I bet everyone is thinking that.)

Why does he get me all revved up for opportunities and experiences, all to yank them away from me? (I'd much prefer to have never loved at all, thankyouverymuch!)

Why am I such an ungrateful daughter to him?

What's with all the questions?

I am not one of these people who questions God's motivations. I never ask things like; "Why does God let babies/children die?" - the answer is too simple and too clear to me, as are some of the more obvious things you usually hear people saying.

But on a personal one-to-one basis I am filled with unanswered questions. They're unanswered because I truly believe he's waiting for me to at least go half way - and I've received too much help already. My brother was saved from the jaws of death, pretty much unscathed. I've escaped too many near-death experiences to count. I got a relatively pain-free labour and a wonderful, happy and healthy boy out of the bargain (I keep waiting for something cruel to happen on that one.) There are loads of other things I won't get into...but I can't help but feel he's saved me one too many times. That I'm the "mooch kid."

And that he's now shoving all these hardships to see how I fare. 

A few years ago my Dad told me something - after a horrible break up I was going through. As I sat there crying and thinking my World was ending he told me that I was having that experience because one day I would be able to pass on my knowledge and my empathy to someone else. I have to confess to not believing him at the time - but now I totally get it. It's true.

It just sucks that for that empathy you have to go a long way to get it. It's like going to the North Pole for ice.

So, why did God create me? 

To live this one life I have. To do with it what I can. To cram as much learning in as I can.

To create something for myself and my family that no one has ever been able to create and pass it down the generations so they can do it better. To watch this little man Roman grow up and see him through the same eyes as my parents saw me through. To answer all of the above questions and to make sense of the spaghetti mess than can be my life at times...

and hopefully one day we'll find that stupid house that keeps hiding from us.

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