I wonder if I’ll always associate Switzerland with sleeplessness? I hope not. Of course I might also associate it with paperwork. We’re up to our eyes yet again, although I can’t say I’m finding signing this new lease particularly challenging.
We get the keys to our new home on December 13. I want to say, “Only 6 more sleeps!”, but that would make me a liar. “Only 6 more nights of grinding frustration thanks to the 3 neighbours sent by Satan to torment me!” is far more accurate. And in the further interest of accuracy, the real culprit is the building. While ignorant heel-wearing, partying until 4 a.m. and screaming at your spouse and children all day are not necessarily admirable behaviours, if the walls weren’t made of paper, things would’ve been better.
But that’s the thing with this life isn’t it? There’s risk in everything, there’s always a chance that things won’t work out like we planned. I have a tendency toward unbridled and sometimes foolish optimism, so I’m trying not to idealize the new situation too much. For all I know there’s a flamenco dancer above us and a Sex Pistols tribute band below. Or worse—toddlers.
Plus, there are the costs we will incur in the quest for quiet to keep me grounded. There’s the exorbitant rent (parking space extra) and, bien sûr, administrative fees. Now Vevey, our next stop, is a town literally a few streets over from us. We had to apply for residency there to begin the initial apartment search, which involved tons of papers, including many Swiss francs. Then, there was more of the same to live in La Tour-de-Peilz and now, all over again to go back to Vevey. And, naturally, all the other crap involved whenever one changes addresses. Jaysus, this finding myself business is getting out of control.
What can I say? I don’t think there’s a choice in the matter. My life is getting too short to spend any of it in relative misery. Short of contracting an anesthetist to put me under every night, this appears to be the best option at the moment. The pressure will be on for me to find my way back to the land of the gainfully employed and, in all honesty, the new monthly tab might be just the kick in the arse I need to reinvent myself, job wise that is.
Our place is around the corner from the Nestlé World Headquarters. Maybe I’ll mosey on over and see if they are in need of a Psychiatrist/Chief of Chocolate Quality. “Yes, yes, your parents were distant and unsupportive, how very difficult for you. Now pass me that crate of dark chocolate Kit-Kat bars and tell me all about it.”