I Should Have Been A Mermaid.

I went to the beach with thousands of dollars of gear and took this with my cellphone. #fail

If someone asked me if I was happy with my life right now, I would probably answer yes. 

Less being unemployed, I can't complain too much lately. 

But we all have those negative days where you would rather mope around like a whiny asshole than commit to being happy for the day. 

I had one of those days this week. 

I was just angry about everything.

I have no job and it's starting the grate on my patience and my confidence in my employability. 

Feel free to check in with Tracey. I was just miserable. 

So to make me feel better, she suggested I take some photos of her and Jordan instead of just going to the beach to sulk like the whiny asshole I wanted so desperately to be on Friday. 

I did. 

I packed my gear up. And I was miserable. 

I put some clothes on. And I was miserable. 

I got in the car. My A/C is still not working right. And I was miserable. 

I turned out of the driveway still inexplicably miserable and I made my way down my street. 

I turned the music up. I was listening to angry 90's Alanis, if you must know. She is still the best Alanis. Happy hippie Alanis does nothing to dissipate inexplicable rage. 

As I got closer to the lake, my misery started to fade. 

There's something about the breeze that comes off the lake that is completely satisfying. My misery faded as I thought about how I was a few short minutes from my toes in the sand. 

About half way through my drive I even.... shudder.... swapped angry Alanis for happy hippie Alanis. 

By the time I pulled into Port Stanley, I was almost not miserable. 

I laid a blanket down, ate some grapes that were later traumatized by a firetruck, and I read a book. 

I took some photos of my beloved friends, ate some dinner, almost moved to a 4 million dollar boat with a man who presumably owns the pizza shop, and then returned to my book until the sun disappeared behind the shoreline. 

I stayed a while longer and took in the sights, smells, and sounds of the lake. 

And I wasn't miserable. 

Just like that I no longer wanted to be a whiny asshole. 

I was glad to have taken some gorgeous photos of some gorgeous people. 

I was glad to have eaten a pretty fantastic burger with those same gorgeous people. 

I was glad to have taken the time to watch the sun disappear. 

I was glad to have packed up my misery and left it somewhere between the house and the beach. 

I can't tell you why the beach heals my soul, but it does every single time. Some people aren't meant to be land-locked. I am one of them. If I could feasibly live on the beach, I would without hesitation. I never feel far from home when I am near the water. That's what I love best about it. It feels like I belong there. Any body of water will do, really, as long as it has that gentle sound of waves slapping the shore. 

I was probably meant to be a mermaid – I mean, my thighs already touch so I'm halfway there... May as well commit and get myself a seashell bra. 

If you're looking for me in the next few months, just check the beach. 

Given my unemployed status, it seems like the best way to spend my free time is training for my future as a mermaid. 

xo

Why I Quit a Perfectly Good Job

This should more appropriately be titled Why I Quit Two Perfectly Good Jobs but that's semantics.
Today I quit a job after only a few days there. I came home, took a nap, and poured myself a glass of wine.
It was a WONDERFUL company with some of the most amped-up, happy, and enjoyable people I have ever met in my life.
I can honestly tell you that I have fun for two days and got paid to do it.
Was I in love with the job? Probably not. I don't really know because I wasn't there long enough to know I was or I wasn't. I quit.
My last job was a job I loved. I liked going to work. I loved (and still love) the people there – both at work and in the community at large.
I left all that behind because I felt a pull to be closer to my family. I was sick of missing them all the time. I was sick of missing all the good and the bad stuff.
I missed having coffee with my mom. I missed my dad laughing at his own jokes. I missed seeing my extended family. I missed my friends here.
I knew that by leaving, I would leave behind friends that I would also miss. I've left a giant piece of my heart in Manitoba with my lovelies there. I love them like family. But there is only one place they call you one of their own and that's home.
That is why I left a job that I loved. I just had to come home and regroup before I could take on the world again.
When I started my journey from Manitoba back to the motherland, I knew that although I would miss my friends, I would have my family and my friends here to keep me whole. That ache would still be there, but it wouldn't be so sharp. I would be okay.
Fast forward a couple weeks: I was offered a job at a wonderful company. I agreed to take it.
I knew the hours would be hectic and a promotion might mean uprooting again, but I thought for the earning potential, it would be worth my time.
I liked the people I was working with. I liked the atmosphere. I turned down another job to give this company a go.
But when it takes you away from your family, it's not worth all the money in the world.
Right now, there is a lot going on in my family. There's a lot going on with my friends. My life is full and busy and I'm grateful to be here for it. The good and the bad.
But the reality is that there is no job worth time away from my family and friends.
I can always earn money.
But I can't earn missed time back.
I can spend my life working to live a life I'm not getting a chance to live or I can just live my life.
I already have to miss my people in Manitoba. The last thing I want is to miss my people here too.
It's absurd to me to be this close and still find myself missing them.
While I loved the opportunity, I love my friends and my family more.
When I am 90 and I look back on my life, I won't remember how being unemployed just a little longer affected my life. I won't remember how I didn't earn as much money in those few months I took to figure my life out.
What I will remember are the times spent with the people I love and how regardless of financial impact, I did what I could to spend the most time I could with them.
I will remember the people who have made my life worth living. Not the money I made.
The only way to live a full life is to actually live it with the people you love and the people who love you back.
And that is exactly why I left two good jobs.

xo

10 Steps To Moving Like A Poor Person.

Moving sucks.
It doesn't matter how you look at it. It just blows.
If you're wealthy enough to have all your shit packed for you, that's glorious. I'm certain you can creep me on the internet. I am accepting applications for only wealthy spouses.
Even if someone packs it, loads, unpacks, reassembles it, and takes away the mountains of bullshit used boxes and packing material, it's still super unpleasant. You just pay a lot of money for unpleasant.
If you're less wealthy, you save a couple dollars here and there and you have to pack all your own crap, move it all, then unpack it all. You pay a little less than the wealthy people, but it's really just as unpleasant.

Chances are you will move through these ten steps of moving.
May the odds be ever in your favour, friends.

1. Accept that you're moving. Choose a place that is generally to your liking.
Bonus points if you've accepted the free parental option.

2. Start pricing moving. Cry a little. Drink some wine. One less bottle to move, anyways.
You'll look at the U-Haul option. You'll convince yourself you have the skills to tow your vehicle with all your crap in the back of a truck. Tell yourself U-Haul won't mind the pet hair.
You're too poor to hire movers. Tell yourself this insanity has got to work.

3. Start collecting boxes. Get your friends to give you boxes. Leave them in a pile. Wait until you know it's getting to be too late to start packing. Open a bottle of wine. Drink it. Know what? You don't need wine glasses. Pack those. Hell, even pack the one you're drinking from. One less glass to wash, right? Drink straight from the bottle.

4. Hire movers. Because you know what? It's only a few hundred dollars more and you're no truck driver. Plus, it makes everything easier and your car can handle pet hair. Don't ever admit you've hired movers because you fear you lack the skills to manouver a U-Haul with your car attached to it at highway speeds. Agree to give them your first born child. A reasonable fee for convenience, right?
Celebrate with wine straight from the bottle. The moving guys told you they won't move the wine and you got drunk and packed your glasses... one of which is probably dirty.

5. Unpack the crap you packed in Step 3. The moving papers said you packed everything wrong. Probably because you were a couple bottles glasses in and you weren't really thinking. Plus you ran out of packing supplies and did a really crappy job. You must re-pack it all because you have no idea what you're actually doing. Wash the dirty glass you used and packed. Keep it out so you can be somewhat classy for your next packing session.

6. Go get more packing supplies. You will run out of tape so buy ALL THE TAPE. ALL OF IT. Notice bubble wrap is expensive. Start collecting newspapers.
Bonus points if you're a journalist and collecting newspapers is stupid easy.
Fail if you keep forgetting them at work.

7. Tell yourself you don't need to pack anymore until X date because you did so good in Step 3 and repacked so well in Step 5. Call the moving company and ask them how much it costs for packing. Turn down the offer because you're poor, remember? They want your second-born as well. That's unreasonable.

8. Contemplate not moving.
Drink some more wine just in case you move because the movers won't take the wine and if you do move, it's one less bottle to shove in your tiny little car. And if you don't move, you've just made one more spot for a new bottle of wine on your rack...

9. Once again, accept your move. It's happening. You can't change that. Drink another bottle glass of wine because the movers won't take your wine. Also, at this point, contemplate why the movers won't take wine because it is at risk of spilling, but wine arrives in big trucks much like the one your crap will be loaded onto for the "reasonable" fee of your first born child plus applicable taxes. At this point, you may consider selling all your belongings. You then remember that the things you need will not fit in your car because you bought a coupe five years ago. You will also once again accept your non-wine-moving movers at this point.

10. Move. Just do it.
But be sure to try and convince your movers to commit tax fraud because the province you're moving from has better taxes on their service than the province you're moving too.
When they refuse, piss and moan a bit. Complain. Tell all your friends about your first world problem and pay them your first born child.



Sorry to my first-born child. I hope you enjoy the moving company. I hear they will raise you right.
Also apologies to my liver. But I only have room for a few bottles and I wasn't raised to waste things.

xo,
Jill