I went swimming tonight at the Freyberg pool as I now do every Tuesday. As mentioned at last night's autism group, the Germanness of the pool's name is apt: ve vill not haf fun in ze pool. All the lanes were busy, right from the aqua-jogging (a.k.a. swogging) lane to the slow, medium and fast swimming lanes to the swim squad lanes. I stuck firmly to the slow lane of course.
Last night's group was great actually. There were two very nice new people and a lot of very enjoyable (and at times quite amusing) conversation. It's a real joy to see someone's face light up when they are excited about a particular topic, as happened on a few occasions last night. I'd really like to get to know some of them better, preferably by meeting up outside the fortnightly sessions.
The meeting came at a good time for me. Yesterday was a bit stressful with the realisation that I might have to be out of this flat soon. My lease expires on 15th November; the flat has just been sold, the new owners still want tenants but, as I found out yesterday, on a one-year contract. That's a hell of a long time. Far too long for me. If I can negotiate something in the coming days, great, otherwise I'll have to be out of here pretty sharpish. A pain in the butt really because I was happy to stay here for the time being, just without the inflexibility of being locked in for so long.
Also increasing my stress levels was a phone call I got on Friday with a potential offer of an actuarial job, subject to an interview. In February following my can-we-just-get-this-over-with actuarial interview (not the one for my current job) I promised to myself I'd never have another such interview. Declining the offer (which I did today) was the only sensible option, for a whole raft of reasons. Today, by the way, is the sixth monthiversary of my job. When I started I had serious doubts as to whether I'd survive that long. I should however mention that I achieved absolutely nothing at work either yesterday or today, so I'm surviving but that's about it.
On Thursday I met somebody I hadn't seen since I was nine. Rose came from Temuka - her parents were friends with mine when we lived there - but now lives in Wellington. She's single and works as an art teacher. My mum and her aunt (I think) swapped our phone numbers. It was funny meeting up with someone I hadn't seen for 22 years and wouldn't know from a bar of soap. We were in the café on Cuba Street for a couple of hours - longer than I'd planned. We had a coffee and a small meal; we got on OK but I ran out of things to say. We agreed to meet up again some time, probably to see one of the many live bands in Wellington. Then on Saturday Rose rang me to say that it was good that we met but that "nothing romantic would come of this - we're not that compatible". This was a bit of a surprise comment because I'd never suggested anything like that, but I think she was concerned our families were trying to hook us up.
As I was writing this, I got a call from my parents; they're coming up for a quick visit the weekend after next, having snagged flights from Timaru through Air New Zealand's reverse auction for a very cheap $78 return for the two of them.
Showing posts with label finding a new flat. Show all posts
Showing posts with label finding a new flat. Show all posts
Tuesday, October 18, 2011
Monday, March 7, 2011
Tennis tales I
I found out this morning that I’ve got seven weeks to vacate my flat. Where I’ll go, and with whom (if anybody) I really don’t know.
Yesterday I went to the French club in Browns Bay, which was convenient because I then had to play interclub tennis at Torbay, a prospect I wasn’t too thrilled about. Before I took to the court I couldn’t have cared less about winning or losing – I just wanted to get home. It was all doubles, partnering players who were at a decent level and clearly would have some emotional attachment to the final outcome. That wouldn’t make it any easier for me. It was very windy out there and at the start of the men’s match I could hardly get a ball in play. When we hung on to my serve in the fifth game to trail by just one, we could easily have been 5-0 down. But then I somehow, from somewhere, found my range and was helped by my very steady, skilful and experienced partner. We had two set points at 6-5, but a barrage of big serves got our opponents out of trouble. Tie-break. Spare me. At that stage I couldn’t have imagined we’d get the result we did – a 7-6 (7-1), 6-1 win.
The highlight – if you can call it that – of the mixed match came on my own serve, when we were leading 4-0 and 40-30. I served what I thought was an obvious double fault, my second ball landing a few inches wide. They didn’t call it, but sometimes opponents don’t call balls that are obviously out. I thought nothing of it, called “deuce”, and stepped up to serve the next point. My partner didn’t like this, saying I should have waited for them to call it, and taken the point and the game if they didn’t. I simply said, “I’m not a win-at-all-costs person,” which she clearly was. Anyway we were well on top and I felt we could win fair and square without needing points like that. We lost that game but wound up 6-1 6-3 winners. Looking back on the afternoon’s play, the conditions benefited me. I didn’t have the technical ability that others out there possessed but if I’m in the right frame of mind I can scrap and get balls back, keeping my unforced error rate down. When it’s blowing a gale most points will end on an error so if you can just keep the ball in play you’re half-way there.
I guess I should tell, briefly, my horror interclub story from a fortnight ago. I won just two games in just four sets, making it my worst overall result ever. Whether it was my worst performance I’m not so sure – there’s no shortage of contenders to choose from. My depression was a definite factor – that evening I didn’t want to be anywhere near a tennis court. Both games I won (both!) were in the singles, against someone I’d played once before in 2005, back when I enjoyed the game. That time I won in a tough three-setter. As for the doubles, the less said about that the better. The big positive was that the evening’s exercise (what little I got) seemed to give me the initial boost I needed to drag myself out of depressive hell.
Tonight I have to play again – I expect my love-hate relationship with the game will continue.
Yesterday I went to the French club in Browns Bay, which was convenient because I then had to play interclub tennis at Torbay, a prospect I wasn’t too thrilled about. Before I took to the court I couldn’t have cared less about winning or losing – I just wanted to get home. It was all doubles, partnering players who were at a decent level and clearly would have some emotional attachment to the final outcome. That wouldn’t make it any easier for me. It was very windy out there and at the start of the men’s match I could hardly get a ball in play. When we hung on to my serve in the fifth game to trail by just one, we could easily have been 5-0 down. But then I somehow, from somewhere, found my range and was helped by my very steady, skilful and experienced partner. We had two set points at 6-5, but a barrage of big serves got our opponents out of trouble. Tie-break. Spare me. At that stage I couldn’t have imagined we’d get the result we did – a 7-6 (7-1), 6-1 win.
The highlight – if you can call it that – of the mixed match came on my own serve, when we were leading 4-0 and 40-30. I served what I thought was an obvious double fault, my second ball landing a few inches wide. They didn’t call it, but sometimes opponents don’t call balls that are obviously out. I thought nothing of it, called “deuce”, and stepped up to serve the next point. My partner didn’t like this, saying I should have waited for them to call it, and taken the point and the game if they didn’t. I simply said, “I’m not a win-at-all-costs person,” which she clearly was. Anyway we were well on top and I felt we could win fair and square without needing points like that. We lost that game but wound up 6-1 6-3 winners. Looking back on the afternoon’s play, the conditions benefited me. I didn’t have the technical ability that others out there possessed but if I’m in the right frame of mind I can scrap and get balls back, keeping my unforced error rate down. When it’s blowing a gale most points will end on an error so if you can just keep the ball in play you’re half-way there.
I guess I should tell, briefly, my horror interclub story from a fortnight ago. I won just two games in just four sets, making it my worst overall result ever. Whether it was my worst performance I’m not so sure – there’s no shortage of contenders to choose from. My depression was a definite factor – that evening I didn’t want to be anywhere near a tennis court. Both games I won (both!) were in the singles, against someone I’d played once before in 2005, back when I enjoyed the game. That time I won in a tough three-setter. As for the doubles, the less said about that the better. The big positive was that the evening’s exercise (what little I got) seemed to give me the initial boost I needed to drag myself out of depressive hell.
Tonight I have to play again – I expect my love-hate relationship with the game will continue.
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