My name is Jennifer. No, I'm not an alcoholic. I'm poor. I'm not poor like the lady that wrote that blog and had like forty grand. I'm broke. I left my husband who in all practical terms is a asshole. I met said asshole in the US and then moved to France to live my happily ever after. But like all fairy tales, there is an evil queen and Monsieur Asshole, turned out to be number one. So, two kids later, I packed up six suitcases of clothes, some books and toys and embarked on my journey to my homeland. I thought, with my business experience (did I mention I was a business owner before), my language skills and my degree under my arm, life would be easier than in France where the economy was abysmal.
After arriving, I realized that finding a job was more difficult than I thought. The job market in the US was still pretty bad. Despite reports that the economy had rebounded, I couldn't find a job. I kept telling myself, but wait, you have a degree. Honestly, I could have wiped my ass with that degree and it would have been worth more. My mother told me my whole life, if you have a degree you'll have it made. Even if it was a degree in bullshit, it would be better than not having one. Well, with my degree in bullshit, I went to a total of three job interviews out of the sixty jobs I had applied for. Everyone kept telling me, oh you speak two languages and lived abroad, people would love to give you a job. People during the interviews I did attend recounted stories about their trips to Paris and asked me the most banal questions about France. "Did you like it?" "How was the food?" "Were the people rude?" It was hard with my blunt nature to not say "do I have the damned job or not?" as I smiled the most plastic, false smile that I could muster. Even the greatest amount of ass kissing wasn't going to get me a job.
So, I my friend's mom, with whom I was living, told me that she had to sell her house and we had to move out. Still not having a job and at this time on welfare, I had to move out. I had not much money and no place to go. I moved into my cousin's ex wife's house. Now this proved to be a little tricky. My cousin and his ex wife had a very messy divorce. I took the part of his wife. So, after arriving, I managed to start speaking to him again and I then reconnected with his ex wife. We had a great relationship and living with her was fantastic. It was single mom's against the world! However, I had a boyfriend that was moving to my town to be with me. My lover, my friend, my partner, then moved into a house that I found and he paid the rent so that I wouldn't be out on the streets should things go ass up. Did I mention that he is poor too? Ahh, he is just as broke as I am. He was married to a Medusa and basically, she made his life a pure misery. He's fine now but she left her scars. So, with our little money in tow, we combined what we could together. We were still broke.
Everyone keeps telling me how brave I am for leaving. I don't know if it was bravery, stupidity or fear of a future that I couldn't bear to face, but the timing could have been better. Ladies and Gents, have a plan! So, now, I'm off to fight another night to stay asleep while I toss and turn and battle with my worries.
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