Limbo is a funny thing.

Wait.

I don’t think I am using that word right.

Limbo is unbearable and horrific and soul-destroying and vile.

In fact I recommend everyone openly covert to Satanism. I for one will sleep so much better knowing that I am guaranteed to end up in hell rather than leaving open the slim chance that I will end up in Limbo.

Of course, if you do convert, might I humbly suggest that you keep doing your own clothes shopping? (Did you check the link?)

Whilst we’re being blasphemous may I just say to you all “Reason’s Greetings!”. This makes sense if you go here.

That’s my awkward segue back into discussing why I haven’t posted for a while.

Well…

The world ended. And in this city in my industry it’s still ending. This is from today. They were advertising for sits vac as late as last week. They nationalised the frikking banks the weeks we got here!

What this means for a foreigner is that jobs that previously went empty as late as May this year now have about 35 candidates per vacancy.

When you couple that with the British innate racism that can’t believe that Australians are good for anything but pouring beer and that Poles are only useful for housepainting then you start to see what I was up against.

I was getting the interviews… At least once a day. And I’ve been here for a while now.

So try and picture what your life would be like if you are slowly losing everything you had ever worked for living in the fourth most expensive city in the world while it is ending and being turned down several times a week for jobs… I’m either “not salesy” enough (ha!) or “far too senior” for a role (I’ll be the fucking judge of that!).

Most of these excuses are out and out lies. I thought it was just the Brits that I had met in NZ but there is a systemic culture of lying to your face in order to avoid conflict here.

Even yesterday, when we emailed because we still don’t have the stuff we shipped (so add up my horrible life and then add ‘living it out of a suitcase’) the woman on the phone said “there was a problem with the NZ insurance” and she’d follow it up with them.

Bull. Fucking. Shit.

I checked. And what insurance? It’s third party and has nothing to do with customs. It’s not even compulsory.

Translation: I haven’t done even close to the job I am paid to do and rather than admit that and try and fix it I will instead blame someone else and make some more tea.

Yes.

I’m a little frustrated.

And obviously I am picking the really bad parts out of an unending parade of good parts and great people.

But, you know… Get your own damn blog if you want to be all accurate about things.

We have actually had a really, really tough couple of months. And the people who have offered support I can count on half a hand. The people who have emailed me I can count on half a hand.

Incidentally, if we’ve met, then you know my memory is long… Like Elvish long. Dwarfish, even. (Cameron: That’s how it’s spelled you-know-where.)

I will point out that this isn’t an OE. James is an Irish citizen.

And I’ve done the whole “move to another country and live in a shit house with a thousand of your closest friends and not care what job you get.” That’s not why we’re here.

This is supposed to be the beginnings of a completely new phase of life.

So

Reason The First

The fact that I have been extremely depressed/tired/angry/hurt at watching my world crash down all around me and not being able to do anything about it.

So basically my braind wasn’t wired right for enjoying/noticing things and then commenting on them.

Reason The Second

Maslow’s frikking pyramid.

When you don’t have a job then any action you are taking that is not directly related to securing employment causes anxiety/insomnia… And that includes blogging.

It’s also the reason I am just so so tired. I haven’t slept right in months and haven’t had a weekend in even longer. (Ironically there are no weekends when you don’t have a job.)

Reason The Third

We’re poor.

Everything is gone. That means we ran out of things to do/photograph.

James and I have literally done everything free for miles and miles.

We know our way down most of the old canals (pun!), we have been to every free museum, etc. It has driven me personally (he’s far more stable) to acute clinical depression.

Reason The Fourth

This one’s a little bit ‘writerly’.

I didn’t know ‘who’ I was writing as.

Was it like before? Was I a senior online media exec with a lot of valuable things to say about digital strategy and traditional media?

Was I working for a large, important publishing company or was I working for a cheeky indy?

Shit. Was I even in media?!

So basically the ‘old’ Gordon has faded over the last couple of months but he hadn’t been replaced by anything.

Summary

This meant I had nothing to write about, wasn’t in the right headspace to write, didn’t know who was writing and couldn’t allow myself the time to do it anyway.

Reasons FOR Writing

Well, shit.

If I’m going to be poor again, I might as well be arty again, too.

And as such I have thrown myself into a number of creative/writing projects, including a revamp of Invading Europe in a new home.

One Final Note

Incidentally, if you think this is a fucking sob story they you are waaaay off.

This is a record. For me.

Because our circumstances are changing in the next few days the potency of these memories is starting to fade.

That’s what happens with trauma. But you usually associate the onset of this kind of amnesia with a kid suppressing the fact they were fiddled with.

It’s weird to be consciously aware of your brain trying to weigh down some hideous memories and dump them overboard in the nighttime harbour of your unconscious.

Weird and a bit awesome.