Countdown

Let the moving begin!

Last night Mr Man and I finished up the last of the packing (well I say we finished it up, but really, he had to finish it up himself this morning), having left the kitchen till last. While scrounging around in the kitchen, finding old glasses to box up and donate to charity, I found a bottle of vodka, with a fair amount left in there. Enough anyway for me to put into a mug with some coke (yes, a mug, someone decided it would be a grand idea to pack all the glasses up and leave nothing out – yes that someone would be me) and guzzle it down quickly.

You know what I discovered?

Drinking a guzzle-full of vodka and then packing, is quite fun (apparently I’m a cheap drunk). It certainly makes the packing go quicker, and the dancing around the kitchen just adds entertainment value. Well, I was entertained anyway, and I think Cat was entertained. Mr Man just stood there shaking his head at me, but oh well. 

The bad thing I discovered?

Guzzling back the vodka actually makes me quite tired. Tired enough that I left a box half packed with pantry items, looked at Mr Man and told him the rest was up to him, “I am going to bed, because some miserable bastard (that’d be Mr Man) is making me go to work tomorrow”. Unfair, true, it’s not really him that’s making me go to work, but when guzzle-full of vodka, fairness goes right out the window. 

So the truck arrived this morning at about 6.30am, and I’m hoping that when I get home tonight everything will be packed up. I’m not liking my chances though. Because I hate packing, you can almost be guaranteed that it will be there for me when I get home. But WOO, the move officially happens for all the furniture and household goods tomorrow, and next Tuesday morning, I will be following, and there will start the adventures that Port Lincoln is sure to bring.

Job update: Still don’t have one *sigh* – I am officially on my way to becoming a Sandologist!

Cleaning, lots of cleaning

The thing I hate the most about moving house?

The seemingly endless cleaning that you seem to have to do. I always thought my house was clean, why is it I can now find dirt, dust and disorder (okay the disorder is all the bloody boxes piled up everywhere…) everywhere I turn. My poor hands look like they belong to 95 year old, they’re that dry and wrinkled from all the detergents I’ve been using all day. I can not wait to be all moved and unpacked.

T minus 14

So with only two weeks to go until we make the official move, and only one week until the furniture and all the household goods get moved, you would think that perhaps I’d be spending a little more time on my sorting and packing and the cleaning up of the house wouldn’t you?

Am I?

Well. In a word. No.

At the moment, I’m stressing majorly over the work situation. Mr Man has a job (well… duh… otherwise we wouldn’t be making this move), and thankfully (yet very sadly at the same time) Little Miss Princess doesn’t live with us on a permanent basis, but the fact that I don’t have a job has me a little worried. I’m a worrier, it’s what I do best, and at the moment I am champion queen of worrying.

My employer is quite a large one, and it comes with certain perks – such as being able to take 12 months leave without pay, so that I can, if I have to, find work outside of the company, but at the same time, I can find work and transfer to another department. Well, that’s the normal situation. Enter a new managing director, who apparently, doesn’t really approve of the whole 12 months leave without pay situation and enter into the equation my application for these 12 months to get myself sorted in a new town and find myself work. Then add in my complete and utter horror and devastation to get a letter denying my request. Admittedly, I’ve been granted three months leave, but Port Lincoln isn’t the hugest town and there aren’t quite that many opportunities that come up in the area that I’m in. Finding work in those three months could be hard and essentially this will require me to have to choose between my family and my career.

After 13 years, I feel as if I’ve been gobbled up, chewed up and spat out without any by-your-leave. So now my conundrum. Do I fight for more leave? Do I take my three months and hope to high hell that I can find a position with this company in three months, or do I just say, screw you all, thanks for making my last couple of weeks with the company sucky and just leave.

What I haven’t mentioned that makes this decision that little bit harder – with this company I get 18 weeks of paid maternity leave. Mr Man and I are hoping to start a family in the near(ish) future and that’s one perk I really, really don’t want to give up.

Oh what to do, what to do?

For now though, I suppose I should get back to the sorting and packing…