I almost got a job as a custodian at a High School. At first, I was happy to have some permanent work until my visa came through. I thought it might be kind of a Good Will Hunting situation for me. Instead of waiting until class was dismissed to solve problems,  though, I'd burst in during class (any class) and solve problems incorrectly and shout out wrong answers. Then it dawned on me that in addition to incorrectly answering high school problems and selling students fake weed, I'd be cleaning high school crappers and I wasn't so excited.

Fortunately, the tennis court maintenance work looks like it'll go on for about six more weeks. I'm also doing some IT work with the guy I was working with before I left to go over to France so I've got money coming in.  But of course, just as you've got money coming in your 'Check Engine' light just happens to pop up. Thanks for that - whoever is in charge of those things. 

Miami Heat

Big news of the week is that I've got my appointment at the Miami Consulate scheduled for one week today. It's a twelve hour drive from where I live. I'm going to drive down Monday; have the meeting at 9AM on Tuesday and then drive back. I'm quite excited. Also extremely curious as to how long it will take to get the visa.

I spent four hours this past Saturday organizing all my papers in preparation for the meeting. For anybody else this probably would've taken them one hour but my powers of organization suffer. I find paperwork really difficult. I can't even get through filling out my address without jumping to the end of the form to see how it ends. Then I wander over to another pile of stuff and start on that. That's when I remember that I'm supposed to have my long form birth certificate and remember that I left it in my truck. While looking for that I come across a Paul Weller CD that I know I haven't added to my itunes. While that's importing I look up a French and Saunders sketch on Utube. Then I remember that I'm supposed to download my bank affidavit and while Adobe Acrobat is loading I phone my friend Brent in Chicago to see how cold it is up there and how he's getting along. Then I get back to finishing my address on the first form.

I'm amazed at the arbitrariness of the French system when it comes to obtaining a visa.  In particular, the timeline. While I was in France in the fall, information on the French Embassy's website in the U.S. said it could take up to eight weeks to get a visa. Now the website says twenty four to forty eight hours. An email to an employee at the Consulate in Miami said twenty four hours to a week.  I'm hoping I'll get more of a concrete timeline next week. Getting a visa in twenty four hours seems an impossibility to me - like getting drunk on rum pudding.

The man with the thorn in his side

I miss my fiance all the time and everyday.  I feel like a goddamned Morrissey song - maudlin - like a bruise that I can't stop pressing - lyrically depressed. Most of the time I kind of like that feeling of missing her. It feels like a warm, cozy sweater that I never want to take off. There's almost something comforting about missing her and walking around while the lyrics to 'There is a light that never goes out' bounce through my head.

But then there are days like today. I woke up absolutely miserable. I honestly felt hungover without the benefit of having poured any booze down my gullet and there was also no desire on my part to rush out to McDonald's to squash the hangover pain with some Vitamin G (the G stands for Grease). I walked around all day feeling like a five year old in desperate need of a nap and a snack. 

Mornings are the worst. God I miss her in the mornings. She doesn't sleep beside me she sleeps all over me and when I look over at her in the morning it looks like she's been smashed into the mattress. She looks so cozy. Plus it's been so cold down here and how am I supposed to wake up in a good mood without her warmth in the bed? 

Well... all I can do is shower and shave for my Consulate meeting and then wait patiently. Because apparently waiting twenty years to be with the love of your life just isn't long enough.

Oh, regarding the smell in the apartment. It's either gone or I've gotten used to it. Not sure.

I honestly hate this apartment. It's really not that bad of space to live in and it is quiet but every night when I open the door, this damn one bedroom joint reminds me that I'm not with my fiance. In the words of Hank Williams, "A house without love is not a home." And this place is far from a home.

I don't want to do any of the things that make a place a home either. I don't want to cook - and I love food and eating. My clothes are still in their duffel bag and should I put pictures up on the wall - NO! This apartment and I have come to an understanding - we'll put up with one another but we don't have to like one another - kind of like a young Stepmom with her new teenaged kids.

How come people who live in apartments never report seeing ghosts? Do people who die in apartments get special dispensation when they get to the other side? Does St. Peter address everyone at the Pearly gates:

"Right - everybody, listen up. The Jehovah's Witnesses were right; there is only a limited amount of space up here in heaven. The good news is that we are building. Until the permits pass though we can't break ground so some of you will have to go back. What we've decided is that anybody who lived in a mansion or castle is at the bottom of the list. We realize you may be pissed at this so feel free to scare the beejezus out of the present tenants.  Anybody who lived in a tenement - come on in. All persons living in condos - second on the list and those in townhouses third. All persons who resided in council flats and were bullied by feral children please see St. Joseph."

Big Jesus

Last week I was having lunch with my sister and the couple beside us grabbed each other's hands and said a prayer aloud before digging in. They were good sandwiches but no need to disturb Jesus over them, as far as I was concerned.

There are two things I notice about folks down in this part of the States. The first is how genuinely friendly almost all of them are. My sister has been living in the south for almost twenty years and every time I come down to visit I cannot believe how far people will go out of their way to do something considerate for strangers. 

The Jesus thing down here always takes me by surprise. Coming from the Godless country of Canada (multideism is still the official religion of Canada. As a child I prayed to a half man half moose that I mistakenly thought was one of my Uncles until I went to college.)  I'm not used to such open displays of Jesus love.  Last week when I went to the Orientation of w0uld be substitute teachers religion was the only topic that got everybody riled up. When we were all informed that we were not allowed to discuss our religious beliefs with students it got most people a little more than ruffled.

I was wondering what would get the same group ruffled in France. I think serving fast food and bad coffee in public schools might get some eyebrows raised. Even though it's a Catholic country I find France far from a religious country. I think the official French religion is being French.