I had my very first new life freak-out. Did I ever say relocating was going to be easy? No. And in the name of honesty, I’m going to blog about the bad days, as well as every good day, because damn it, it’s all part of the process.
I was sitting in Timothy’s coffee shop, trying to finish these damned financial statements for the business loan, feeling exceedingly frustrated as I just could not make myself focus on them. I’ve been trying to get these done for days. They are absolutely essential. Why can’t I just effing do them already? And why won’t that lady beside me stop talking about her rash??
Finally I decided that Timothy’s was too noisy for financials, so I’d go home and work on them since Kat was out and about today and I’d have the place to myself. I packed up my laptop and walked outside, to be greeted by a heavy downpour. We’re talking cats and dogs rain. I didn’t have a coat. We’re moving to Ukee just in time for the six month long rainy season – how am I going to survive if I don’t have the discipline to get essential statements done or even remember a raincoat?
The tears started as I was walking home, and the detached, rational part of me (Sergent Rational, I call her) told me that the tears are a totally normal response to the stress and pressures of relocating and starting a new business. Just let it out. By the time I got home I was full-on bawling. Screw the financials, I’ll ask Kat for help, even if it’s just in the form of cheer-leading. I need someone to sit over me with a bat to get this done. I called Kat and left a message, asking if I could beg out of dinner plans we had with a friend that evening, I need some down time.
Since I wasn’t going to do the financials (again) I figured I’d do the next-worst job, the phone calls. Bell Canada, Royal Bank, Sunlife Financial, Pet Insurance, credit cards, cancel my metro pass, book a moving van, book a hotel room in Nanaimo, make ferry reservations etc. etc. You know, the kinds of calls that can potentially keep you on hold, a hostage to easy-listening music and perky-yet-uninterested customer service reps saying “I’ll just transfer you to this other department” – CLICK! – before I can tell them that other department just transferred me to them.
Maybe it’s the 9 months I spent as a telemarketer, I don’t know, but sometimes I just really hate the phone. I have been procrastinating on these calls. Know how to make an unsavory task more stressful? Procrastinate about it.
So the first call I made was to Sunlife financial, the company that has held my contributions to the group pension plan I had with my old job. I have made multiple calls in the past months and have been assured numerous times that when I leave the job, I will have access to the funds that have been saved up over the 7 years I was contributing.
Well today they told me that was not the case. The total funds was now over a certain limit that needed to be “locked in” according to the Province of Ontario. What the hell? Honestly, I couldn’t make a lot of sense of what she was telling me, and I was trying to quell my horror that money I had been counting on would not be available to me next year. Shit shit shit!
Well, it’s a good thing I didn’t work on those financials, because it looks like we’re going to need a bit more salary. My problem-solving brain immediately starts wresting with this new development, I start thinking about applying for work as a waitress to supplement our incomes. Suddenly, a vision of me – in a frilly white apron and low cut beer-wench costume in some dark, seedy pub, slinging steins of brew to drunken fisherman with missing teeth who slap my ass in lieu of a tip – blasted through my brain, paralyzing my thought process with sheer horror of what I might become.
And then the tears started to threaten again. I was NOT going to get choked up on the phone, arguing with some CSR who didn’t care about me. So I thanked her politely and hung up. Insert meltdown here.
After about five minutes of self-indulgent wailing, Sergent Rational pointed out that I had made only one of about 10 urgent phone calls. I could continue to cry or I could pull it together and get the job done. I reached deep, deep into my psyche and released the long repressed Inner Telemarketer. Inner Telemarketer is a phone alter-ego who can handle any manner of phone abuse while simultaneously up-selling the disgruntled customer to a new phone and three year contract. She is evil, but I needed her today.
And you know what? I did it. I got through my list of calls, I successfully negotiated credit rates with my bank and I smiled my way through Bell Canada’s attempts to get me to transfer my phone service to a relative. I can do what needs doing.
I think I’ll be okay.