Good news doesn’t show up with such regularity as to be ho-hum. In fact, when the second phone call came in yesterday afternoon, yes, my eyes filled with tears of relief. Why? Because those aids to which the family is entitled, the family will receive within ten days or so. Good news is relative: the family (four people) will have approximately the same monthly amount on which to pay the rent, power, insurance, food, clothes and extras as I have to sustain myself and one dog. However, in the family’s situation, the extra bit of good news: with something to call a monthly revenue, applying for a rent-controlled apartment becomes feasible.
Once the brimming relief subsided, I sat in a friend’s car after a busy day, somewhere between dazed and stunned with fatigue, and wondered at the massive amounts of energy that must be expended to achieve each and every finger hold in a refugee’s path to a legal status. The father is still at risk of an expulsion order in March. The mother’s residency permit expires in June. Here’s hoping everybody’s muscles and finger nails hold out during the next bit of climbing, and the next after that.
As for me, the luxury to which I most aspire this week: getting up when I choose to do so, not when the dog decides five extra minutes = dawdling. Plus, walking at the pace I choose – one unrelated to the next appointment, and the next after that. In other words, time other than as a race against the stopwatch. Including time to write other stuff than reports.
More for the Absurdity File: since I must pay my rent in cash until such time the bank accepts to give me checking privileges, and since the rental agency does not keep cash on hand, I’ll make my third trip in two days to the agency at nine a.m. sharp this morning. Why? Yesterday, I was nineteen centimes short of the exact amount owing on the agency fee and the nice lady couldn’t make change for a ten euro note. Last night, my friend advanced twenty centimes in two and one centimes pieces, just in case one miserable centime gets stuck in the lining of my coat or something.
’tis a long way indeed – to Tipperary and just about everywhere else.