Ready for the Game?

Weary, I try to keep the time on a daily basis from now on.

Training sessions is a drag. A long bore. She’s like the substitute teacher that never leaves.

Everything seems so superficious. And disorganized and in disorder. And a lot of ground to cover. The fun part is that we’re actually able to play in the casino to get to know the products. Poker. The game my grandfather taught me. The game I used to win nickles and dimes in Kansas on.

The only one I get somewhat contact with in the group is Andreas. He’s alright. And we share like I said some common ground with experiences from Ireland. I get sentimental. Memories goes back to the mystical green island with a sky full of colors and clouds, and dreams that once lived.

The days at training are endless. It’s always a relief getting back to the hotel and finding a place to eat. I try to make friendly with the Big Boss. But something is not right with her.

Wednesday, my letting agent calls me again. He’s found two flats that would be more to my flavor. Both in interior as well as location. And I have to make a decision fast. I call home to ask for funds to pay for the rent and deposit.

Thursday, there’s a two day “soft skill” training with an English expatriot to South Africa called Simon. The best two days so far. And an emotional roller coaster ride, as so many things he talks about in communication gives me flashbacks, and grim reminders of all the mistakes I made in Belfast trying to save the relationship with my Woman. Later that afternoon, I go out for a few drinks with Andreas. For the first time, we can share stories and experiences. Strange how people open up after a few pints og Kilkennys and Guinniess.

I get a phone call from home at the hotel later that night. My old mother has put in the funds I need for the move. Everything seems to go in order. With a million thoughts, I go to bed. I can’t sleep. Flashbacks from a war, and from Belfast start to haunt me. I wake up in the middle of the night, cold and sweating. It’s all dark and silent in the room. My heart is pounding, and I’m breaking down. I swallow a sleeping pill. Fighting off demons, I float into oblivion.

I wake up with a bang the next morning. It’s all light outside. And the’res a knock on the door. I look at my clock. It’s almost ten. I overslept. I panic I get dressed. The phone rings. It’s the company. I tell them that I’m on my way. I tell them I had a bad night, and must have switched off my alarm clock in my unconsioussnes.

I rush down the street with my heart up my throat. Worried shitless for what might await me that day. It’s a good day. Until the end of it. The Boss calls me into her office. I knew what it was about. And I try to explain. She interrupts me. Takes a piece of paper out and asks me to sign it. It’s a warning. She tries to act empathetic. But I see right through her on what she’s trying to do.

“This is the first time I’ve had to have a meeting with someone  3 timesalready the first week”, she says. I thought that our last talk was un informal and a friendly one. Now, she brings this up to use against me. A quote from Charles Bukowski comes to mind

“Many a good man has been thrown under the brigde by a woman”

“Listen! I can get you to a shrink if you think that might help! I know you’ve been going through hard times. But we can help you!”

She might mean well, but it all sounds fake in my ears. And I’m too tired to put up an arguement. I sign the paper. She couldn’t find the name or the address to the shrink, promise me that she will as soon as she can.

With an uneasy heart, I go back to my hotelroom, and fall asleep before it’s dark.  I go out later that night for a quick meal, and down to Black Gold. I expect to meet people from work there. My hunch is right. Norwegians, Swedes, people of all nationalities is down there. They give me a happy cheer, and ask me if I want to sit down. I don’t feel like drinking though. I didn’t need drinks to come into conversation on important matters such as books and literature and drugs.

I’m meeting Andreas the next day. He promised to lend me another 75 euros for a downpayment. Adrian Huber will drive me to my new place with the keys, full months rent, and the rest of the deposit. Moving some of my things out of the hotel, one last night there, and I can go out to get drunk.

I don’t remember much until I wake up on Sunday noon. It’s time to check out. I pay my phone bill, wink to the girls in the reception and take my ride to my new bohemian home.

My new home. Large. Rustic. Bohemian. The walls speaks to me! And I’m locked in… Paranoia grips me.

My key to the door gets broken. Somehow I get a hold of my landlord. He’s soon on his way to get things fixed. And I’m thirsty and hungry.

With a chip on my shoulder, I go down to the office waiting for a taxi to drive me and some colleagues to a dinner in Mdina.

Get wine and food and getting to know people from work in a proper way…

Bohemianwriter

7 responses to “Ready for the Game?

  1. I like the reference to the ex-pat from South Africa……hmmmmm???? and his name is Simon????///

    Just so as ya know….I am really pleased to be reading ya mate….honest!!

    Maurice.

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