Chapter 3 – Welcome to My First Month at Monrad Mansion
Woe be me, as I said before. It wasn’t the 1st of August I moved in. I think it was the 13th. AM was nice enough to help me with the first load of crap I had to move in. That and a kind stranger I bought a bunk bed with a futon like on the bottom for my one room. It was, truly, after all, a bachelor pad-ish home. Front was going to have my main computer, my bed/couch, my dining room table. Back was going to have another couple of computers, my books, my dressers, my bike, my closet of what clothes I had left. And lest we not forget it has the bathroom sink. The bathroom sink is in the back room, the bath and toilet in the hallway going into the back room. It was something else all together. White walls in the back were perfect for me because eventually I would fill them with the myriad of paintings I have from my grandfather, good friends, daughter, sons, and of course all the useless diplomas I have from Honours Journalism, Bachelor of Arts, Private Investigation, and my copyrighted unpublished books. Oh yes, and paintings I painted. They are not great, but they are my memories. I even knew I would end up with pictures of one of my previous lives with my ex and my children. They are a part of my fabric. And pictures of my “friend” of six years. Another part of my fabric.
Okay so back to my first month. I managed to have the front in place. Like one of my favourite movies “Under the Tuscan Sun” she said something about making one room your own. I did just that. It is the one with the tree and the once upon a time sun on the ceiling. I made that my space, while the back room slowly built up with boxes and a mess, and I was overwhelmed. I was. I drank what little money I had. I cried. I felt like there was nothing much to live for anymore. In the eight months I lived close to my children at my sister’s place I didn’t see them much. I wondered was this the right decision? But I did have a job. I had started it just about the time I rented the place. I even had someone to drive me. Or so I thought. He ended up being horribly unpredictable. I found out how to take public transportation after walking the 8 kilometres the one day my ride didn’t show up. But all in all my job was a prison and so was my lack of transportation to my nice little country apartment. I was falling apart.
My job had great potential, but also great expectations that as a burned out 49 year old with wrinkles and sagging body parts didn’t want to challenge. I couldn’t. I ended up with that “must be here before 8:50 a.m. and must not go out until 12:01 and back before 12:59 and out at 5 p.m. and otherwise be at your computer and make sure you log in everything except for when you decide to go to the bathroom, because you are a NUMBER and everything is digitally watching you and monitoring you” turning into a “severe anxiety and depression” issue. I was also isolating myself so badly because going outside stressed me out horribly. Avoidant Personality Disorder. Wow. They still want me back after three months. Why? Because I’m too nice.
So first month of Monrad Mansion living, I left my job, had rent to pay and didn’t know what to expect from there. Prison Job told me to keep working from home, but wait! Wait until what happens in the second month. Never accept to do anything unless it’s in writing…