As it goes.......

I seemed to have lost my knack for writing these things -- something about the timing not being right, not having my own laptop... or my just being cranky. I always mean to write, think about writing and then... pfft, nothing for months.

I'm here in Liverpool... and life is life.

I'm beginning to wonder if the weather is getting to me or if, dare I say, I'm getting a bit bored with it all. The skies are gray most of the time here and it seems to give the impression of lifelessness -- mind you, we've been spared the rain that we had all during the summer -- but I just wish it would do something! Snow even... the weather doesn't make the days very distinguishable. We've had our day lights savings time here, about a week or so before you at home, and the sun begins to set around 3:30 I'd say.

The early evenings are beginning to remind me of Christmas time... it doesn't help that they've had x-mas decorations up in the shop windows since early October --- coinciding with their Halloween decorations.. that's just strange.

Halloween... it's a strange thing, but Halloween had made me remarkably homesick. I found myself working my first night shift, behind the bar in about 5 months. I've been spoiled by my faovorite Irish boss and have had the luxury of working only day shifts as a waitress on the floor. In a pinch and in an act of desperation -- he had asked me to stay until mid-night to work the bar.

There I found myself standing behind the bar feeling completely out of place -- not being able to chat the customers like my waitressing position allows me to do. Having a chat when there are 30 people staring at you to serve them just doesn't go over smoothly. Anyway... in came the freaks, geeks, and skantly dressed locals girls, they calll it fancy dress over here, which I just think is strange. Anyway, though I was there physically, my mind was at home and I found myself day dreaming about what my family was doing and where I was last year on Halloween.

One of the hardest things for me being away from home is that I'm trying to cope with missing Seanna -- my neice. I thought about taking her our trick or treating in her little bunny costume -- and I thought about how I was able to be a cruel treat giver at my mom's house when the little hellians from the reserve came over to beg for treats -- every once in a while I was taken away from my retreat and brought back to Liverpool each time someone shouted their drink orders at me -- somehow, they think by ending each order shouted with the word "love" at the end it makes it all better -- PINT OF GUINESS LOVE! Blah.. How dare they interrupt my remincing about the good old times -- don't they know what it's like to be away from home.

Halloween was never a sentimental time for me -- but it seems that these days my emotions, age, and a combination of being so far away from home all of the time allow for any sort of situatuion to become overwhelming. I'm a bit worried about what Christmas time will be like.

There, I said it, I'm home sick.

Intellectually -- well, school is my life. If there was ever an addiction to have, I suppose going to University isn't necessarily a bad one to have -- except over here it costs double what it would cost at home. The trick about all of this is that it takes half of the time.

I found myself browsing Masters programs over here... trying to figure out what I could that would actually land me a job -- I've come to realize that my current degree's are practically useless over here and, well... it's about time I do something that I want to do --

TESOL -- yeah, that's right -- Korea flashback. Teaching English as a Second Language. Why not I thought. Thinking back to Korea -- cutting through all of the homesickness, infinite hangovers, nights out until 7 am, and all the rest of it, I actually remembered that I liked standing up in front of that class room. I really did like preparing my lessons, and apart my my lack of smiling and affection from my students -- I've realized that I really did like teaching. How's that for soul searching. £8,500 British Pounds for one year of university -- international student for you. That's, $16,777 CDN dollars!

Anyway -- the allure to this degree is not only can I work after ward, but it's recognized all over the world. You all know that I'm not one to stay put very long... so this would be fantastic. I've looked into it and am beginning to seriously consider it. The difficult part is trying to dig up and harass old profs to write me, yet again, a reference letter. So -- that's where things are heading for now.

Of course there is the issue with Visa's... and all the rest of it.

What else -- I'm applying for a UK licence -- haha. The opposite side of the road, here I come. I'm not entirely sure how I feel about all of that, but when I sit in the passengers side of Saeed (my boyfriend)'s car I try to envision which lane I'd turn down, where my signal light indicator is, and ... well, all the rest of it. He's a brave man -- he's insured me on his car which means sooner than later I'll be a big girl and finally drive again. Truthyfully I really do miss driving -- I wonder what it will be like.

So that's it for now.. lack of photo's I know -- but at the beginning of this blog I felt really home sick -- but at the end, I've reminded myself just how fortunate I am in my life here --

I'll be sure to post sooner than later about -- my first trip, where there were 2 suitcases rather than one and post some photo's of this mystery man of mine.

Miss you all lots...

On a less than selfish note...

I find myself sitting in Liverpool and enjoyng my life -- at the same time I get to read all of your blogs and to hear about how you're enjoying your lives. Pregnancies, New babies, Houses, Boyfriends, Husbands, Anniversaries, Careers.... in a word, wow. It's the blogs that remind me that at one point or another we've become adults. Scary huh?

First of all, Arrah -- I am so happy for you. I can't believe that you're going to be a mom!! That's great news. Thanks for the birthday wishes -- my mind was with you and Wes, as I can never forget your wedding anniversary.

Myah -- sounds like you're going to have your hands full soon. Happy be-lated birthday by the way -- must be busy celebrating a double birthday on the 9th. Or perhaps, efficient! : )

And... Anyone know what's going on with Jill, Scott, & the twins? I love checking all of your blogs -- It's my favorite thing to do when I'm feeling home sick -- makes me feel like a part of your lives, so I really look forward to updates -- this coming from me who hasn't updated in ages. I plead no contest -- as I don't have my own laptop.

Angie -- Great to hear from you and to know that your lovin' Fort McMurrey - hope you can get your brother to smile. He doesn't look so happy in that photo on the blog post.

...Robin... love those comments, keep 'em coming, and I'll keep the Johnny Irish stories comin'.

As for myself -- life is good. I haven't picked up an English accent yet, but there are differences in the language -- There's English, and there's English -- Aubergines for Egg Plant, and Courgettes for Zucchini??! Hmm... I've got some of the slang down which is funny really... I can't help but laugh.

I am, slightly homesick, but I think it's becasue I've taken a week off of work and have had way too much time to think -- but did do something interesting, I'll save that for an other post -- oh what a birthday. Apart from that -- I get my weekly dose of my most FAVORITE CBC program every Saturday night -- Randy Bachman's Vinyl Tap. Absolutely love it. And the program preceeding it -- The Debaters. The latter is particularily important -- always full of Canadian Jokes and it reminds me where I'm from. I'm such a wiener -- I stay in on a Saturday night to catch these radio programs at 11:30pm - 2:00 am each week.

Anyway -- all is well. Looking forward to getting back to my life, work, gym, and everything in between. Miss you all and am always wondering what you're doing in your lives.

Eammon

"MARGARET you're either out there in part time land, or you're protected and in full time land with the rest of the long termers. You need to make a choice. You can't have your cake and eat it too" -- This is my boss, Eammon.



I'd gotten called into his office just before my shift the other day. He told me this and I just stood there with a blank look washed over my face -I'm tempted to say, but I like cake Eammon, but this isn't the time for jokes I can see that he's rather serious and slightly pissed off -



"Well Margaret, you need to make a decision --" I shrug at him and put my hands up, "I don't know Eammon, what do you want me to say?" I can only imagine the furstration that he's containing by the look he gives me -- it was one of those moments that you have with your dad and he's scolding you -- but you don't quite know what's going on. I just stood there in the doorway to his office, my black uniform with the tops of my pens and note pad sticking out of my left shirt pocket eager to take orders.



If I was telling you this story myself, it would be in a strong Irish accent with lots of swearing involved -- because he just loves to swear, which actually makes retelling his stories much more fun.



Eammon is one of the most unique characters that I've come across in all of my life -- he's the kind of boss that can make you cry one minute and having you laughing the next. When he's happy all is well, but when he's in a foul mood -- two words, watch out. But he's the kind of boss who is more like your father -- he gives a heavy scolding out of frustration and then he calls you back to apologize and talk to you in a much quieter tone of voice once he's calmed down -- if he likes you you'll get the apology otherwise, staff are easy come, easy go in this industry.

I love this guy -- when we're working morning shifts at some ungodly hour of 8:30 on a Saturday morning he cranks Queen's Flash Gordon and walks around the pub to 'ensure' the speakers are working and walks around singing under his breath as though we can't hear him and as though he's not enjoying every second of this song.

He's always trying to include me into his Irish humour, or the English jokes that I may not get -- he speaks in a tone of voice that could be classified as yelling but that's just the way he talks -- when he says you're name, you often jump because you're not sure of his tone of voice, "MARGARET, have you seen Flash Gordon the movie?? -- Meekly I respond, "no, but I know the song". His response is like that of a child who you just told Santa doesn't exist. "What?! how could you have not seen it! Everybody's seen it... " It's almost like an order from a drill sargent to find this film and watch it -- I'm again tempted, "Sir, yes Sir!" But the sleepiness overtakes my quick wits and I just nod yes.

Eamonn -- he was the first guy to pick, or at least come close to picking out my accent. "Newfoundland?" Were his first words to me. I was stunned. He's the kind of boss that you either love or hate -- and there isn't any inbetween. He's great at his job and if you give him the time of day, he'll do the same. He's one of, if not these best bosses I've ever had -- he can relate to anything, at anytime -- I think he likes most to draw on his experiences as a younger man -- his favorite stories usually begin with, "When I was younger and much better looking..." and then if he feels he's lost you or just needs to reassure himself he says, "you know, I really was good looking in my younger days" ...and the story continues.

One of my favorite things about working there are the stories that I get to tell about him later on that day -- and there are always stories. He's curt, blunt -- but gets efficiently to his point without icing the cake. Sometimes I feel sorry for the new person who runs into him on a bad day -- I watched him fire someone over the phone one day-- I can only imagine what what said on the other line -- but this person had made the mistake of calling in sick only one hour before their shift on a Saturday night and I think they said something like, I'm sick and I'm really sorry that I won't be making it into work today. On my end I heard -- "Well, I'll be really sorry when you don't show up and you lose your job." -- Just like that, phone hun up, job lost. He looked at me afterward and said, "I just don't have the fuckin' patience for that shit today." I laughed, but I think it was more of a nervous laugh and I was happy that it wasn't me.

Okay, okay....he's not all bad. Considering what he has to put up with -- a staff full of 18 -20 year olds I suppose it's just what you become -- thick skinned and blunt. He opens up once in a while -- apart from his stories that begin with when he was younger and better looking. He's got 2 daughters - twins, and is happily married. He confessed to me the other day, "Look Margaret -- if I don't run a tight ship here my family life will fall apart and that's too important to me so this is how it's got to be for my sanity."

He's good dealing with his female staff as well -- and here we thought it was all 'cause of his wife and kids. Turns out, he's the only boy in a family of all sisters -- 4 to be exact. Makes our job a little bit easier. Although he does tend to exaggerate some of the problems we have as women just to get a laugh now and again.

I've been working at O'neils for 5 months now but in this pub industry -- just as it is at home, there is an extremely high turn over rate so now I've become one of the long termers. Other long termers, Magda my friend from Poland -- the only other staff that is my age so it makes a nice change to come in and to have someone to talk about life in general with, not just how drunk we got last night or who's shaggin who. Of course Cara -- Belfast, Ireland. She, like most people from Ireland tell it like it is.... love it. So I'm a long termer with the best of 'em, and with good hours as well -- this, of course, being my cake. I do. Working 5 days a week, 3pm - 8pm. They're good hours because I can get up, have some coffee, do some writing, go to the gym, have something to eat and still get to work a few minutes early to have a cup of tea -- yes, I said tea..... oh the effects of this country.

The wages here in the UK are crap -- really they range from £4.45 - £5.35 p/h this is all according to age. The rates will go up on the first of October -- £4.60 - £5.52 p/h. It's not all bad though -- I can suppliment my wages with tips, depends on whether the Irish are over or not. The locals are tight, I mean tight! The Irish -- well they're usually over here for someones stag party, birthday party, or just to watch the football so they haven't a care in the world -- they love some good banter and fortunately I do as well.

My life really revolves around work -- it plays a bigger role than most jobs. I've come to love my job and the people that are a part of it -- both my staff and some of the regulars. Work is both my means of employment and my social life all wrapped up into one. Everytime I walk into work it's like I'm transcending into a different world, or perhaps a different country -may be its the smell of stale beer, the mustyness of the basement venue but whatever it is, it's great.

Margaret,Maggie, Mags ....

No, I'm not suffering some kind of multiple personality disorder, but these are some of the names that I answer to over here.

Something came over me this time around in my travels and I thought it would be interesting to go by my first name for a while -- after all, there was (like any of our names) a lot of thought put into it. I've been going by Margaret now for 5 months and admittedly, I quite like it. What's more is that it's even a bit strange to call home and to hear people call me Claire --

So I thought I'd let you in on what could possibly be construed as an identity crisis.

... did I ever mention how I love the gym?

"You forgot the weights!" he said, as he laughed. I took out my ear buds and had directed my attention to him, slightly annoyed, "what?" "you forgot the weights!" he said, and laughed again.

--I was sitting on the slanted bench at the gym warming up for my alternate bicep curls. I'd realized that he had a good sense of humour and decided to reply to him, but at the same time I was trying to be polite (because those who know me know I hate talking to people at the gym) I replied half laughing, "no, I didn't forget them -- I'm warming up, takes a lot of concentration you know." "oh" he said, "I thought may be you forgot the weights and you needed to be reminded" -- and he had a laugh.

I didn't think much of him. In fact, I didn't think anything of him. As soon as the conversation was done my mind went back to what I was doing and that was it.

The next day when I walked into the gym there he was on the chest press machine, right in path to the change room. Due to some maintenance at the gym the change rooms were swapped around -- with huge signs posted everywhere so that even the blind could see. I was just about to mount the steps up to the newly designated change rooms and as I was about to pass him by he said, "the change rooms are different today you know." -- "oh yeah, thanks" was all I had replied -- wanting to get past him in my haste.

He continued to occupy me with small talk as I stood there, surely wearing one of those looks on my face that you all know so well when I'm really just disinterested. He asked me a few questions, but the only one I can really remember today is, "are you Irish?" -- "No" was all I said with no elaboration and with that I walked off into the change rooms. I didn't even bother to ask him where he was from -- but he was clearly not from the UK.

I went along with my usual gym routine not even remembering the conversation or his presence. At the end of my usual work out I'm often running on the treadmill, that day was no different -- there I was, red faced, sweaty, and out of breathe when this guy walked past and had somehow taken all of my attention. I watched as he passed by, until he was out of sight and as he had walked right in front of me he smiled as he passed. I marveled at his good looks and immense sense of style -- then it had dawned on me, it was him. I'd been so caught up in my own work out routine and stubborness that I don't even think I'd taken the time to make eye contact with this guy as he has spoken to me...

All I remembered of him was his green jacket, his orange adidas gym bag, and his diesel belt -- how terrible I thought that I didn't even give this guy the time of day.

It was a Friday when he walked out of the gym and I couldn't wait until Monday when I went back to see him again so this time I could at the very least find out his name.

The world is cruel -- really, it can be. I went to the gym everyday as I usually do hoping to see him again. I had changed my own gym times trying to catch him at different parts of the day -- but truly, I didn't know who he was, because I didn't ever really look at him. I found myself smiling at and looking happy to every Joe blow who resembled him hoping that it was him but to no avail. All week I went to the gym hoping to see him and nothing. I was so disappointed and angry with myself.

Because this gym is in the bottom of a huge hotel in Liverpool I thought, alright, he was just a guest and now he's gone. I figured it was for the best that I hadn't spoken to him.

The following Monday I went back to the gym as usual. I had, in fact, dragged myself there. It was a long week end, filled with lots of drinking, working, and going out -- Monday was, to say the very least, painful.

In the middle of my work out just as I had hopped on the treadmill I'd glanced to my right and there he was, running only 2 treadmills down. I couldn't believe it. So this time I had decided that I wouldn't let him get away from me.

It was one of those days where you wish you were buried deep into a feather duvet sunk into the couch in the livingroom watching movies -- it was one of those days where you feel like you are just not meant to be seen in public -- yet I was at the gym and there he was. I'd gathered up all of my confidence -- I have no idea where it came from. In my procrastination I went out to fill my water bottle telling myself to just do it -- just go.

So, with all of my inhibitions aside I walked straight into the gym and directly up to him. I, quite bluntly said, "...and where have you been? Haven't seen you around all week, thought you quit." -- I had no idea where these words were coming from. "ahh, " he replied, "I've been away for the week with some friends on holiday, that's why I haven't been to the gym." Suddenly a feeling of relieve came over me. I don't even remember what I'd said to him after that -- some kind of small talk. I told him that I'd be in the Sauna after my work out -- and low and behold -- there he was after his.

I had no idea what to say, do, or even how to act. For those of you who've been swimming with me in our teenaged days -- you'll remember this -- I've still been wearing that bright yellow Nike swimsuit. (Yikes, I know, I know...) So.. we sat around in the Sauna for a while -- both kind at a loss for words. I was tired of sitting there so I told him I was going for something to eat. "Do you want me to go with you" he asked quite forwardly, to which I replied with some kind of assumed confidence, "yeah sure, I'll meet you at the front desk."

It was like one of those sitcoms where you walk away from the person and repeat what you'd just said out loud and wonder what the hell you're doing -- I literally had done that. In a haste I showered and tried to be out there first. I was -- and then we were off. I brought him to my favorite cafe -- a vegetarian/vegan soup place (the bridgehead of Liverpool for me). And we had soup. We sat there -- and he was very quite, but had made me laugh.

It was a strange situation -- but at the same time, somehow it was normal like it had happened so many times before. When we were to leave it turned out that we had both lived in the same direction -- so we walked together. We walked just to the corner of the hostel -- he went straight and I turned right. It was slightly akeward then -- cause, really -- what'da ya do? "Can I call you?" he asked. "Yeah -- I've already put my number in your phone." ... "really?" he said, "you're fast." So I showed him what I'd put it under and then he gave me his -- and that was 3 months ago.

I know, I know -- I can hear you Angie -- 3 months ago? And you're only telling me this now? Well, relationships for me are similar to a pregnancy-- it's not something you want to talk about too prematurely in case there are some complications.

He's been amazing -- I'm not one to gush about relationships, but I'll make the exception. He was there for me when I moved out of the hostel -- boy was he ever. He consoled me when I was upset about making a bad decision for moving into a house with these guys -- he took me in most nights when there was no electric & gas... he did everything that he possibly could for me to make my life that much more comfortable without any question -- He supported me when I needed to be supported the most -- and truly, I've never had that in a relationship before.

We've been nearly inseparable. We get along like we've known one another for years -- it's not that sickening kind of couple that agrees on everything -- rather things just seem to fall into place. It's easy to be in one anothers company, and that's something I've yearned for.

It's strange to have met someone -- after being alone for so long (for almost 4 years), it's nice, but slightly strange to have someone included in my life. I've become so accustomed to being alone, travelling alone, and being independent that having someone along side of me had taken some adjusting, but it really wasn't that hard to do.

He's 29, is rather settled here, but nothing permenant. He's got his own house, runs 2 businesses, etc. he loves to travel, (yeah!) and holds liberal views and is very open minded -- he's down to earth, and loves, absolutely loves to laugh. It reminds me not to be so serious and intense all of the time. I think we compliment one another well -- and thing have being going great.

Anyhow -- I thought I'd publish a much happier post after my last one -- damn those weirdos! Pathalogical liars, neurotic clean freaks ... argh! But -- if that's what I needed to do to get where I am now -- I'll tell you, in hindsight, it was all worth while. ; )

Squatter

Squatter;

3. to settle on or occupy property, esp. otherwise unoccupied property, without any title, right, or payment of rent.

The hostel had finally drove me nuts -- Christopher Reed (a past hosteller who I'd met in Victoria would have said that I was suffering from a bad case of hostel-ite-is). It had come to the point where I couldn't stand my over night shifts, and didn't even want to talk to anyone -- imagine, me not wanting to talk?! I suppose, like any place the politics were beginning to get to me. He said, she said .... did you know who... etc. It's difficult to avoid such politics, especially when you live at your place of work. Things had just gotten messy. So... the wheels had begun to turn.

Desperate to get out I jumped at the first chance of life on the outside -- I suppose I had been blinded by my eagerness. There were two guys who were older, working constantly and had asked me if I would share a house with them -- little did I know.

July 13th -- Friday July 13th, it was the day where I packed my bag (yeah, bag....doesn't sound so good without the plural), anyway, packed my bag and was heading for life on the outside. I felt like I was being parolled, or at the very least, leaving home again. I was just so excited.

Kensington -sounds nice- this was the area that we'd moved into. Because one of the guys had lived in Liverpool before he said this area wasn't so bad. Meanwhile, on my way home at nights I'd been mistaken for a prostitute -- as the main drag for prostitutes was on walk back home. Now ... Liverpool is a bit of a rough city but -- c'mon, how can someone dressed in a black rain coat with hiking shoes on and a backpack look like a prostitute??? Trust me, it happens. Being mistaken for a prostitute would, however, be the least of my worries.

The house was fine, I mean, it had all of the amenities -- well, it was capable of having all of the amenities. Wait, lets backtrack-- these 2 guys, my future roomates. One, a 35 year old father of, wait for it... 5 kids, nicely divided amoung 2 women who had just left his last wife and headed for Liverpool for a new start. Fair enough I thought -- This was Peter.

Peter who was English- turned out he loved to gossip and had a bit of a dependence on anti-depressants. Which, of course, I'd only come to find out after moving in with him. A bit of a clean freak -- slightly neurotic when it comes to cleanliness actually -- but in general I didn't think he was too bad of a guy. I kept my mouth shut about others around him and didn't give him any insight into my own life -- I figured that it would be fine.

And -- there was, Daniel. He's like Madonna or Cher -- I have no idea what his last name is until this day. Daniel -- a very kind man. He's one of those guys that you'd describe as a nice guy, a big teddy bear... always there to lend an ear, provide advice, etc. He was a larger man, always working hard -- in fact, rarely to be seen because he was working so much. Daniel 38, from Romania, husband, father of one was working so hard to send money home to his family in Romania -- aww, how noble. He was one of the most caring men I'd met -- caring perhaps, sincere? Well...

Okay so, insert me. We had all moved our few possessions in this house -- the landlord was both Daniel and Peters boss -- so we'd gotten it for a deal. Great. I didn't care really -- as long as I was out of the hostel and had, quote, 4 walls and a bed of my own. We were never there at the same time -- and I thought this was great. Yeah -- great until one day when I walked in we had no electricity, no gas, and no proof of a signed contract anywhere in sight.

Daniel kept going to Romania and began his, or perhaps continued his sympathic stories. My wife is so sick, I need to go back to Romania. The next week, my son is really sick with a long elaborated story. We had all felt sorry for him and thought, what a poor guy. He was the biggest charity case I'd ever seen. We had all gotten sucked in -- he was all about secrets, asking everyone to borrow money and making sure no one had ever known about the money he'd borrowed from the other.

Daniel -- he was like one of those single men who you see or hear about on t.v. that hit up old ladies for their money, marry them and then make off with Millions, leaving them with nothing -- except the line, "I thought he really loved me." That was my analogy -- none of us could foresee what would happen to us.

I had been no different. I must have had sucker written on my forehead -- the first time I had given him an advance on my rent -- £200.00. This was, of course, so that he could go home and see his sick wife. Off he went. When the time came -- my rent was paid for the month of July and all had seemed just peachy. Not long after he came around again -- this time with the same proposition -- yes, I know you can all see it coming -- but for some reason, I'd still been blinded and hesitantly handed over the same amount, this time for his sick son. SMRT, my friend Lindsay would say... I wasn't worried -- well, wasn't too worried.

Then strange things began to happen... he was gone to Romania again leaving me and my anti-depressant/gossip queen roomate to cope on our own. It was only then that we began to realize just how little we knew about our roomate. Either of us had a last name, or had even seen proof of a signed lease. Whatsmore, one day the electric ran out (they run on a pre-paid system here like pre-paid cell phones... you have to buy a card each time). No power, great. Apparently, Peter had no money either and already feeling like I had made a huge mistake, there was no way that I was dishing out more of my savings.

Okay, no electric -- not a problem for me. I was always working and showered at the gym. All I needed was a place to sleep -- of course, you can only live so long with out Electric. And then -- no gas. Nothing! We couldn't hook up the gas, because we didn't have our name on the lease -- our ficitional lease, only Mr. Daniel had a copy of this lease which he, coincidently left in Romaina?!

Anyway -- no gas, no electric, and no lease and no sign of Daniel. We had officially dubbed ourselves squatters.

Daniel became very aggressive when asked about money and as time went on and we had all begun to talk to one another (we being other people that he had befriended at the hostel) had come to realize that this guy had taken us for more than we had originally thought. The worst case, was him hitting up one of the 18 year olds from Poland for his entire savings of £500.00 -- I think that's what had bothered us the most. For us, we were adults and made a stupid decision, but that was just too much.

In the mean time -- my gossip hungry roomate Peter would be left in the house on his own most of the time and in his "cleaning" spree's saw it fit to go into my room at the very least to, quote, change the bins. I had suspected that there was someone in my room but couldn't quite accuse anyone -- and one day while visiting the hostel I'd been approached by one of the girls there asking me about something Peter had told her. As it turns out, he was in my room digging around in my things and whatever he found to be interesting he'd go to the hostel and spread the word.

At this point - I had had enough. I couldn't trust anyone. Going back to this place at night just killed me. I didn't feel safe and wondered what else this guy was doing with my things -- I felt so unsafe there that I'd taken my passport out and felt it would be safer at the hostel. I felt stuck, and dreaded every minute of it. I'd just sit on my bed and cry -- I wondered how I could have been so gullable and blinded by it all -- but there I was, via candle light crying. I felt so isolated and disconnected from the entire world -- I didn't want to call home because I was just so embarassed by being so gullable and most of all, I was angry at myself.

Things had gotten a little better -- eventually, after 2 weeks we had electric and gas. Even still, tensions were high amoungst us. I was at a breaking point and held back no confrontation -- one nightI was confronting Daniel and realized that it was just he & I in the house and the reality of it all was that I had no idea who this guy was. I dropped the argument and realized that the only thing that I could do was to get out -- no matter how, where, or what I had to do.

Work -- work was comforting, they really were. They'd come up to me and tell me about places to live -- offeres to be roomates, etc. My boss was supportive . Of course... in keeping with the drama there was this incident at work in which the police had to be called, a guy sent to jail, and then accordingly charged the next day. Wow. What a month...

Whatever the case -- I'd finally decided -- after many hours of wondering what I was actually doign here in Liverpool -- to pick myself up and start again.

Sometimes, I don't know where I find the strength -- I really just wanted to go home, to give up. But, my rational was, what exactly am I going to do if I go home?? Am I going to let these 2 idiots ruin my time here in Liverpool? I left that house on August 12th. I walked away from my neurotic anti-depressant dependant roomate Peter, and the pathological liar/con man Daniel, and £200.00. In hindsight -- £200.00 is a lot of money that if it was a price that I had to pay to get out of there then sobeit.

Sitting here writing about this entire situation fills me with emotion -- I mean, it's kind of funny in hindsight, only because I'm not there anymore, but it was a hard, hard time. I'm not one to rely on anyone, but there was a lot of support from the people I'd met here -- which I'm not sure I could have done with out this time around.

As with any story -- there is a silver lining. In my desperation I thought that no matter what, I could move back into the hostel -- I had given myself this as a back up plan and had moved on from there. With diligence I went to the library and searched rooms for rent -- everyone knows how shitty it is to look for a new place to live -- well, it's no easier when you're in a city you hardly know (apart from the area surrounding the hostel) and you're in a foreign country -- which, although is English speaking is much different.

I found many ad's but there was one in particular that had stood out for me. Of all the ad's I'd contacted I had only gone to see one place. I went and it was perfect - I had an instant feeling of wanting to be there -- it felt like home. Of course though, I was ever so slightly deterred about jumping into anything too soon. I waited around for a week, browsing ad's all the while this place I'd gone to see was just so prominent in my mind.

A week later -- I'd called back and although it was more expensive than I wanted I thought to myself -- if it's still available it's meant to be and I'm going to take it. I'd called back and they hadn't let it out to anyone. At this point, I figured that I had nothing to lose, so I negotiated the price to what I thought was suitable and have finally found myself a home. At least for while I'm in Liverpool.

Life, the home life, is now good -- perfect I dare say. I live in a secure house, recently refurbished, fully furnished, and in a quiet area. I live with an Italian man who owns the house, a guy from Latvia, and a couple from the Czeck Rebublic. I like to joke with people when they ask me how my new place is -- I always tell them, it's great -- we have electric and gas all of the time. It's funny how you come to take things for granted -- gas and electric.

My roomates are like my family -- we each take turns baking, share our stories about how we ended up in Liverpool, what we aspire to do, and differences in our culture. We're all well educated people and likeminded. It's great.

So, yeah, I'm no longer a Squatter -- I am out £200.00 which hurts, I wince each time I'm reminded of it, but admittedly, if it was the price I had to pay to learn this not so easy lesson than sobeit. I'm alive. And as my friend Magda (from Poland) reminded me, it's just money and it can be made again.

Still alive....

Okay, Okay... I know what blogs are for and clearly, I have been neglecting mine. But, I'm back. I have finally gotten internet at "home" and I have my own laptop again so I am estatic (did I spell that right??). Doesn't matter. I have loads to say and I hope that you're still checking this site every now and again ...

Will post in the very near future -- miss you all.