Forces beyond one's control and other existential crises

I've been reading the latest Elizabeth Gilbert book, "Committed", which is largely about her plight of having to get married in order to resolve an issue with immigration that sent her and her boyfriend into a horrible limbo of travelling and waiting for permission to marry in order to be accepted back into the US, despite the fact that she and her boyfriend had sworn off marriage for life after their painful divorces. I'm gripped by it, not only because of the similarity of opinion that she expresses throughout the book about how she sees marriage as something that has always benefited men, while robbing women of much of their previous strength and autonomy, but also because her situation of a kind of exile in a lifestyle she doesn't want reflects my current predicament so profoundly.

I admire her writing style in amongst what could otherwise be quite dry subject matter of statistics and research findings about marriage across various time periods and locations. I'm also humbled by the way in which her relationship endures this incredibly demanding challenge. In having to stay out of the US and keep travelling, and having to face doing the very thing they said they'd never do, just to be able to stay living together, I feel every bit of her struggle to comprehend how debilitating it is to be at the mercy of a power greater than you. In her case, the US immigration system. In my case, the recession, or maybe it's not the recession, it's just some outer force that has decided that for me to ever progress in my life, I have to be thrust back into the very surroundings and circumstances that not only I said I'd never want to be in, but also that reflect everything I have tried to avoid in my life since leaving home. I cannot understand how I have got to this age, travelled this far, (ok, not that far from the UK really) and ended up in a place that reminds me of everything I hated about my childhood.

I do not want to live in the suburbs, far away from connection with the vibrant city, but that is where I grew up, and where I am again now, albeit in another country. I do not want to be judged and held in shame for mistakes I've made or things I want but can't seem to get, yet that is what countless sarcastic comments and repeated stories jokingly retold in both my childhood and in my current relationship seem designed to do. I do not want to be dependent on someone else's income and unable to afford to buy the kind of healthy food I really long for, the kind of quality clothes I really desire because I want things that make me feel good and last a long time, the kind of books and magazines that keep me informed about the world, the kind of technology that enables me to pursue my creative projects freely and efficiently and yet, this is the position I am in. 

Whatever force is at play here, I am certainly aware of the irony, the amusement, the shame in all of this. I can hear the voice of my uncle poised to say, "She speaks all these foreign languages and studied so much and she still can't earn enough to live on her own!  Ha ha!" I also know that he is a pretty messed-up individual with 'issues' of his own that are none of my business, as mine should be none of his. I am willing to learn whatever it is I need to learn here, but it is painful. It is not easy to live with someone who gets angry with me for not being able to drive because, "that's what normal people do" and I don't fall into the category of 'normal' adequately enough for him. I am perfectly 'normal' for anyone living in a busy, capital city with an integrated public transport system, and what is more, I did drive, I got a licence when I could but I have since had little opportunity to practise seeing as I haven't needed a car, nor would it have made much sense to have one, central London parking costs being what they are. But I am being picked at for my failings as a suitable suburban housewife, with no compassion for the fact that the last thing I am or will ever be is a suburban housewife.

So I soldier on. One day at a time. One writing assignment at a time. One advertisement applied to at a time. I am counting every penny (or rather crown) and trying to keep 'going without' things, such as still not getting my hair cut since March, still not buying any new jumpers or leggings even though I need them, still not being able to afford a flat because I have to keep the money my sister lent me as emergency money for income loss, not as flat deposit money. I will not be able to afford to move into a new flat until I get some regular work that pays me enough to cover food, phone bill, travelcard and still have some left over for all the other costs and some left over to save up with because not only have rents gone up while my salary has plummeted, but I will soon have to pay healthcare, taxes and national insurance here in a bid to gamble on getting more work as a result of having the documentation clients need to get their bosses to release funds for their training, that as far as I can ascertain will cost me a third of what my rent will probably be, which means, not only do I need to earn more than I am earning now (clearly) but I need to be earning more than I was when I was working for lots of clients in order to cover higher rent and more charges on top of the usual stuff.

Hence, I need a miracle. A job offer that brings me a liveable wage, a series of high-paying clients and a regular writing job that pays a wage someone in London could actually buy their grocery shopping each week with (at least) or else I have to contemplate moving into a shared house, which totally defeats the object of being in Prague altogether, because that was the only thing I hoped to gain by coming here.  And I had it. That lovely central, really reasonably priced flat all to myself. I had it for two years and I am enormously grateful for it. I would dearly love to start making some gains now, instead of fielding more losses. I would love to have an opportunity to show how much better I am at living when I actually get to do it in my own private space. Whatever force is at play holding me here, I hope it will teach me whatever it is I have to learn as rapidly and solidly as it can because when I leave here, I do not want to have to come back. Ever.

Moving out, moving in, but moving on?

I made it.  I actually got all of my stuff out of my former flat, cleaned the whole flat on the Friday following the final box-exodus and even went to Šumava for the weekend, just to do what the cowboy wanted to do after a long period of him having to help me with tedious stuff.  But I'll have to make up for being utterly useless that weekend because I had period pain of epic proportions and had to stay in bed, drugged up to the eyeballs on painkillers just to survive, by going there again this weekend and being a good Czech-girlfriend substitute and going on a long walk in the mountains.  And then I'm done.  

Then, universe, let it be known, I need a big change.  I need enough income to flood in that I can realistically look for a new flat.  I need enough income to cover getting an iPad because I need access to publications and books without having to rely on the incompetent Czech postal system, which is fractionally worse than the UK postal system.  But only fractionally, and I've been away from the UK now for so long that in the meantime, for all I know, the UK postal system could have become even more incompetent.  Maybe there aren't Saturday deliveries anymore?  If there are, that's the one thing that makes the UK postal system that tiny bit better than it is here.  That's all.

On a lighter note, I've so far survived being in the depths of suburbia out of a sense of novelty, I suppose, although the cowboy is currently in his teenager mode of pointing out how this is what marriage is, boring and hum-drum and pointless.  And he's right.  If it's with someone you don't have enough in common with and if you live together in a flat you both don't particularly like.  But I never expected this to be anything but hum-drum and mildly, if not spectacularly, irritating for all concerned.

I know not to expect sweet little post-it notes left for me, nor random acts of kindness such as  a cup of tea brought to me on a day when I have to wake up early.  The cowboy seems not to appreciate things like this even when they do happen, though.  He didn't even see the little note I left stuck to the lock on the door yesterday.  Which is hard to believe.  But I guess he just shut the door behind him and didn't look in the direction of his hand as he was doing so.

I imagine this is exactly what marriage is like if you marry someone you don't love with a passion.  And it's clear that the cowboy and I have affection for each other, and even at times, a deep connection with regard to our backgrounds and the things we've been through but we don't have enough in common to enjoy each other's company for any great length of time, nor for day-to-day comings and goings.  

Here's a list of ways in which we do not match:

1) I hate watching TV without knowing what programme it is that I want to watch.  Most of it is rubbish anyway, and here it's rubbish dubbed into Czech, which has some small entertainment value and is fun when watching something like 'The Simpsons' but beyond that, I can totally do without the background drone of a TV.  The cowboy, however, always has the TV on.

2) I have two parts to my morning/breakfast routine.  First, a cup of tea and cereal.  Then, after showering and getting dressed, I like to have a cup of coffee and a croissant or pain au chocolat or just a yoghurt and fruit.  The coffee bit is essential though.  The cowboy scoffs down any breakfast all in one go, and doesn't like coffee.

3) I like reading.  Books, magazines, newspapers.  The cowboy hates reading anything except the National Geographic and a plethora of car magazines.

4) I like taking care of my own fitness routine and being disciplined about sticking to it, doing it on my own, in the privacy of my own home preferably.  The cowboy never gets round to planning an exercise routine, yet complains about having developed rather a big tummy and moans about the idea of going on walks in the woods on his own because, "people in the Czech Republic don't go for walks on their own."

5) I like to eat a few squares of a bar of chocolate in one go, then put it back in the fridge for another day.  The cowboy prefers to eat it all in one sitting, in big bites.

This does not bode well, obviously, for a future together.  

On the other hand, here are some important things we do have in common:

1) We both hate corruption and the politicians who make a living telling poor people they need to work harder, while keeping quiet about the bribe they just took.

2) We both know what it's like to grow up in scuzzy working class / communist (very similar, believe me) accommodation with thin walls you can hear everything through, eating cheap food that has never come across the word Mediterranean or, in my case even, 'garlic'. 

3) We both like action films for a laugh and a bit of welcome distraction from the bureaucracy of day-to-day living.

4) We both have an innate perception of others and sensitivity to people's feelings to the point of being able to predict what they're thinking.  We both also need to be careful not to take this too far and start telling people what they think, because that's robbing people of their own opinion.  (I'm working hard to get rid of this bad habit.  The cowboy is not.)

5) We both like nature documentaries.  Especially ones about the wildlife in parks like Yosemite and Yellowstone.

So, there you have it.  Is that a relationship?  Of sorts, I suppose.  Isn't it statistically researched that men benefit more from marriage and/or cohabitation than women?  So why is the cowboy moaning about how bad this temporary set-up is?  Especially as I've just done the washing up.  Again.