Berning Bridges

It's really strange to witness the beginning of a general election from overseas. After the last guy got elected in 2016, I was like

and got the fuck out of the United States. But it wasn't just Trump. I left the United States for a whole slew of reasons, and it's difficult to narrow it down to just one so here's the lot:

1. Trump does not represent what I stand for as an American.

2. Taking the above into account, I don't trust Trump to do the right thing for me as an American citizen, a woman, an insulin dependent diabetic, an alcoholic, a student loan debtor, and a democrat. I list "democrat" because the recent onslaught of diplomatic shenanigans and blame games brought to you by president Fuck Face.

3. In the Czech Republic, I don't make enough money after the exchange rate to pay off my student loans. I'm essentially saving myself $30,000 if I continue to live here for another 15 years.

4. Considering the on-again, off-again relationship with North Korea, I feel safer in the European continent rather than on the west coast of the United States. While I'm closer to the actual Motherland, it sort of eases me that Putin and Trump go at it real dry behind our backs so I don't think there's any real danger.

5. The cost of living in Seattle has turned from expensive to fucking atrocious. I like living alone and I'm past the point in my life where I can live with a person who isn't putting it in me on the regular.

Part of the research I did before I moved to Brno was all of the bureaucratic red tape I would have to go through, but not just on the Czech side. I wanted to see what happened to my drivers license, my permanent address, and my opportunity to vote. I wasn't renouncing my citizenship and declaring war on the United States (yet) so my rights as a voter are recognized overseas. I thought "hey in four years, we could probably fix this."

"Fix this" is pretty vague when it comes to the assertive action needed with the burgeoning clusterfuck of what's currently going on in the White House. Trump said a while back "if you don't like it here, you can leave." The guy didn't have to tell me twice, plus I was already gone. I waved to him but I don't think he saw it.

I've been able to continue supporting Bernie from abroad. He was my first choice in 2016 because he speaks to my issues directly and he's been fighting for me since before my existence. Some call him a career politician, but I don't see a problem with that. He's made it his life's work to help Americans, the people of Vermont, and those who are timelessly marginalized by the right. It would be different if he was taking corporate money or was in cahoots with billionaires, but he isn't. And he's not just going to take care of me. He's also going to take care of you, no matter who you are, and I can get behind that.

But I don't consider myself a "Bernie bro," and to be honest, I don't think I've actually ever encountered one in real life or on the internet. The people or trolls who have been described as intentionally argumentative, biased, blind, angry, and stubborn remain elusive to me. There's a huge difference between the people whose first choice for president is Bernie Sanders and the people who become militant and extremist with his cause. Supposedly people have had the displeasure of encountering Bernie bros, and I'm not discounting their experiences. It might be because of the company I keep or the things I choose to expose myself to, but I think they might just be passionate idiots who occasionally enjoy a good political circle jerk.

Part of the reason why my support of Bernie has remained consistent is because of his democratic opponents. I really did like Elizabeth Warren and I don't think she's the corporate criminal who people are making her out to be. She still has yet to endorse any one person in the race and it would flip everyone out of she endorsed Bernie, but I don't think she will. She still has connections to the establishment, the same establishment of lying dog-faced pony soldier candidate Joe Biden.

I had to get someone over the age of 65 to explain to me what the fuck a lying dog-faced pony soldier is because that's the world that Joe Biden lives in, an unrelatable John Wayne hellscape with mysteriously grandiose stories about the weird neighbors in the 1950s. Biden looks like he could get in a fight with a parakeet and barely live to tell about it. 

But Joe Biden scares me, and not because of his linguistic gaffs that have surfaced as a result of the mainstream media. He scares me because even though his attitude isn't exactly like Trump's, he won't have my best interests in mind. He has a horrible track record with women, the LGBT community, pro-war senate votes, the criminal justice system, and marijuana use on a federal level. Every candidate at one point or another has said "we need to combat prescription drug prices." Cool. Agreed. But I don't think Biden has spent enough time with real Americans who have real medical issues. His son had cancer and his son died of cancer, but the Bidens aren't facing the reality of having to choose between life-saving medication or paying rent, going to Mexico to buy medication, starting a GoFundMe to afford required medication and care, or seeking out cheaper medication that's intended for dogs. After analyzing some sources/tweets, it became clear that if Biden were the democratic nominee, I wouldn't be able to return to the United States because Trump would run rings around that guy (although sign me up for those debates because they're going to be a fucking riot). Living in the Czech Republic isn't what I signed up for, but this is my life now. Ideally I'd like to go back to living where I was before because even though it's stupid expensive, I miss the life I had in Seattle. A Bernie Sanders presidency is my best bet to returning home and ending this whimsical saga abroad. 

But people have their concerns about Bernie, too. He had an emergency stent put in but he got right back on the campaign trail. He remains mentally lucid, aware, and doesn't say anything off book that would put him in hot water. There's also this rampant fear of communism within the older communities in the United States. Communism has never been an issue in my lifetime, and it continues to not be while I live in a former Soviet satellite state. The Dubya administration bolstered their efforts in making terrorism the new fear instead of communism. We had terror alert levels, commemorative 9/11 plates, and additional precautionary measures in every FAA security line at every goddamn airport, which made stand up comedy infinitely worse for a number of years. And now every Trump supporter who lived through McCarthyism can return to using communism as a fear tactic. (I do want to point out that communism is a political system and socialism is an economic system because some dudes in my Facebook feed constantly like to disagree despite the evidence and testimonials). But in 2008 we elected the guy with a middle name of Middle Eastern descent, so maybe one day we can have hope again.

The one concern I have with Bernie is that I'm not sure about his expertise in handling foreign policy. He's a career anti-war guy and I completely agree with that. However, when it comes to participating in negotiations, diplomacy, and other events on the world stage, I don't know if he could do it. He's a guy who would definitely be able to take care of things at home, and maybe that's what the United States needs. Maybe we need someone to focus on fixing shit at home instead of barging our way into other country's issues like it's our national past time. Maybe we can actually fix this.

If Biden gets enough delegates to receive the democratic nomination, I'll vote for him. I've seen people say "he's just democratic Trump!" and while there's some truth to that, I think Biden would be able to approach other nations of the world with more tact and grace instead of crashing into a fake painting on the side of a rock like Wile E. Coyote each and every time. If Biden's the nominee, I think it would be a complete disaster. But those debates though...

I don't like waiting out the results of this election because it really does determine my future as an American living abroad. Usually when there's been any developments made with the primaries or coronavirus, I find out about it when I wake up and the majority of the people I know are making their way to bed. I'm hoping that the states whose primaries are held today can see what a difference their choices will make now that it's down to Bernie, Biden, and dark horse Tulsi Gabbard. 

"YEAH, YOU'D THINK."

I don't even know where to start because a lot has happened but also nothing has happened at all. This is my first entry for all of June because, like I said, nothing has really happened worth noting.

Czech bureaucracy has worn me down to the point of tears. The immigration and employment processes seemed fairly streamlined and straightforward when viewed on a website. But when you're having to go from one brutalist building to another to ensure the concrete ship is being ran tightly while being forced to hand over the wheel to someone else, it can become extremely discouraging. 

To be more specific, I'm having to do a lot of the work myself. You might be thinking "oh poor you, Liz. You LIVE in Europe, how can that be so complicated and exhausting?" Because I can't trust anything anyone tells me. Usually when you speak with someone directly from the government, you have some some faith that you're being told an official, correct answer. Between the information I get from the Ministry of Interior, my new job, their respective websites, and the faceless person who may or may not communicate effectively with me via email, something is always left out, I receive four different answers to the same question, or I get information too late that would have been much helpful at an earlier point. As a result, this poorly oiled stroj has made any attempt at planning ahead, organizing a schedule, or getting any kind of clear answer to do so next to impossible. 

Here's a "quick" timeline of 2018 so far:

January 27:

Got hired at new job pretty much immediately. Woohoo! This means applying for an employee card, a two year "visa" that allows me to legally work for a business in the Czech Republic as opposed to using my trade license and a long-stay visa through a term of one year.

January 27 through March 27:

Gather certified documents, translations, and degrees to apply for employee card. I find out my start date at work is April 23.

March 23:

I give notice at my teaching job as I must notify my employer more than 60 days out if I have the intention of leaving my position.

April 9:

Apply for employee card at Ministry of Interior. I'm told this process should take six weeks. I pay an administration fee of 1500 crowns but I have to use government issued stamps as, I quote, "bribes are still a problem here."

April 23:

I'm pushed back at my job until May 14 as my employee card is still processing. I get a letter from the Ministry of Interior saying I need to come in with a certified Czech translator for an interview on May 10.

May 10:

My interview with the Ministry of Interior is centered around me switching from my trade license to an employee card. A ton of questions ensue about my assets in the Czech Republic, how I spend my time freelancing, why I will no longer be teaching at an accredited institution, and why I applied for the job. 90 minutes later, they tell me I could be approved as soon as Monday or by the end of the following week.

May 11:

My last day at my teaching job. I quit at this time because I was under the impression I would be working that Monday.

May 14:

I'm not approved and my start date at my job is pushed back to June 11. 

May 17:

Receive a phone call from the Ministry of Interior my application for an employee card was approved. I'm told I'll receive an official copy in the mail within ten days so I can formally confirm with my employer. I am given a date, June 27, to come into the Ministry of Interior for biometric data to be included on my employee card, 13 days after my supposed start date. The person who calls me tells me I can start work even if I don't have the card in hand.

May 22:

Because my employer wants to conduct a medical check, as in an exam making sure I can actually do the job I was hired to do, I meet with a doctor who doesn't know me. He determines that because I have Type 1 diabetes, I might be a risky hire. I'm given a test tube to pee into as I have to provide my own sample (or anyone's) and meet with another doctor assigned to my employer on May 24. 

May 24:

The second doctor doesn't ask for my urine sample. I record this conversation as I have now learned I can't trust what anyone tells me. She agrees that I might be a risky hire because I have Type 1 as well as depression. My case is sent over to a board of directors in Prague to review and my endocrinologist is called to confirm my diabetes is being successfully managed and I have zero complications as a result. She doesn't ask for my urine test and I then realize I basically could have lied about the whole thing because no one was going to bother to check or follow up with me. She then stammers with me for ten minutes while I ask her what is it exactly about my disease that prevents me from working my job. I leave with no answer.

June 1:

My medical check is approved but I haven't received any information in the mail that I can show my employer I can start work on June 11. 

June 11:

I don't start my job. Turns out I can't work unless I have the actual card printed and in my hand.

June 12:

My employer pushes me back until July 23. My employer tells me there might be a possibility I can start on July 16, but no one confirms this. 

June 27:

I go to the Ministry of Interior to get my picture taken and get fingerprinted for my employee card. I am told I can pick up the card on Tuesday, July 17. I notify my employer my card will be ready to pick up on said date.

June 28:

My employer tells me I can start on July 16, but they can't tell me if I can work without the physical card in hand or if I am able to take time in the middle of the following day to pick up the card. I sit in bed and write this post. As of yesterday, this has now taken six months.

The Czech Republic is a weird place. In some areas you'd think it would be incredibly advanced but in other areas, it doesn't add up. The main example I use is with our debit cards. Across CZ we can use a "contactless card," meaning I no longer have to swipe it and I can just tap the card on a receiver and my purchase goes through. Not a lot of banks have instituted this technology in the United States so it's kind of a one up. 

However, the main branch of my bank is in central Brno, and if I want to take money out or deposit money, I have to pick a number like it's the fucking DMV and wait until I'm called to then tell a real person how much money I want to deposit or withdraw. So the technology is great...but the automated system overall is not updated or consistent.

The major thing I have learned in the past nine months since I've been here is that expecting all of the bureaucracy to go seamlessly is ridiculous. The first tip I should have noticed this at is that for me to apply for a visa in the Czech Republic, I had to go to Berlin, Warsaw, Vienna, or Bratislava. I had to leave the country to apply to stay in the country which I came from. I thought it would be...easy.

Not only has the process been long, annoying, and every level of frustrating, it's been emotionally taxing. Because of the delays in my job, I had to back out of Edinburgh Fringe as I thought I'd be able to take time off in August if I had started on time. I lost my deposit I put towards a bed in a shared flat and my flight didn't get refunded. Overall I lost about $500 on this, money I could have put towards a deposit on a new flat or used for airfare to fly home and visit. There were times where I thought I could have gone home for a week, but because I couldn't trust any of the information being told to me, I couldn't risk being out of the country during a time where something might change...again. This process has affected my stand up, my family time, my creative drive, and my determination to be a real person.

My main "character defect" is patience, as AA told me. I don't have it. I don't know what to do with it when I do have it. I absolutely hate not having the answers to questions I have. My dad told me a story a few weeks ago where he was watching me when I was about age 2. He took these magnetic alphabet letters we had off the fridge and put them in front of me to spell different basic words. My dad would put the word out in front of me and say "cat!" while he'd point to Jake or Elwood, named after the Blues Brothers. I picked it up fairly quickly, but once the letters were scrambled, I didn't do well. He put the word "cat" with the letters out of order in front of me. I was getting agitated because I knew all the letters were there but I didn't know what to do to make it say "cat." I became inconsolable, crying and saddened, a two-year-old only wanting the answer that couldn't be given to me.

I've been too depressed and angry to write this post and part of me didn't want to let everyone know how I was doing. A lot of the complications are hard to explain to someone who hasn't gone through it themselves. For six months I've been trying to create some semblance of a schedule or routine, but I haven't had that. I sleep from 3am until 3pm. I've watched a lot of sitcoms and my YouTube history is full of conspiracy-related time holes. I try to do one thing a day, whether that's a load of laundry or checking. I cried myself to sleep last night because I really don't want that much: I just want my tiny apartment, my cat, and my job. 

I've been looking at other flats because the one I'm in now is excessive and I'm paying for a lot of space I don't use. I went to look at a place in a panelak, a panel style building constructed in the former Czechoslovakia, and I fell in love with it. On the top floor with no one living above me, the windows looked out over the hillsides and industry of the city. I had a deck with windows that could be pulled aside in the summer for fresh air. The bathroom was brightly lit and there was sample storage space for the items I don't have. The kitchen was pristine but not sterile. With two major tram lines and five major bus routes at the bottom of the building, I'd have easy access to the job I have yet to work and the rest of the city, but being up thirteen stories, you couldn't hear anything and it was reassuringly quiet.

The weather has been cold and 50ish. It rained all night so when my hometown weather is upon me, I use it as an excuse to not go out. "Well at least I'm not spending any money!" I think to myself as I restart Brooklyn 99 and eat a tortilla for dinner. I cried myself to sleep last night because I honestly thought it wouldn't be this hard. I've put in the effort, made appointments, showed up on time, filled out the right forms, certified and translated all my documents correctly, followed up with phone calls and emails, and I still feel like I failed. Why is it that the Czech system is so backwards but I'm the one who feels like she failed? I don't want to sit here and be like "Yeah man the system, man...it's just the system out to get us" but really I don't think people realize how much easier these processes could be. I'm definitely spoiled coming from the US, but you'd think some changes would be implemented given that so many immigrants and foreigners are going through these exact same steps just to get a well paying job in a different country on a daily basis. At what point is it not worth it anymore?

And the worst part of all of this: the United States is so fucked up right now, I feel like I can't go home, even if I wanted to. Do I try to do best with the cards given to me in CZ or do I risk not having access to certain human facets at home? Do I have a home right now? I feel like I can't go home. 

A lot of this is me simply rambling but I'm realizing it's a pretty accurate example of the state I'm currently in: I'm lost with no organized timeline and I can't trust anyone. 

“So you're a Lebowski, I'm a Lebowski.”

I’ve been having trouble starting these blogposts. It’s unlike me to struggle saying anything that’s on my mind, but for some reason when I begin this first paragraph, it has become difficult to relay my thought process. Perhaps it’s because this is THE NEW YEAR’S EVE POST but when you’re sober, you don’t really take these "holidays" seriously. So maybe it’s the residual pressure of having to report on 365 days of…whatever.

This year started off with a relationship I wasn’t expecting myself to get into. It’s incredibly easy to date comedians, which is why I dated yet another comedian later in the year. It’s like when smokers go out to smoke but they don’t know each other. They immediately have a sense of camaraderie because they’re smoking anonymously. It’s the same for comics as any other artistic form of expression, I imagine. But it’s hard to not shit where you eat when all you’re doing is comedy. Like let’s not pretend I don’t know about it, because I do. I’ve dated a few comics. Some of them ended in a real Hindenburg type explosion but others softly glided down to an even relationship homeostasis. For a real paycheck, I was labeling, measuring, describing, and slinging mid-century modern furniture to people who had never been exposed to the design form everyone over the age of 50 is relatively sick of. The consignment shop was reminiscent of a pawnshop owned by Don Draper, but most of my time was spent listening to Creedence and try to upsell people on the experience of a reversible sectional sofa versus a love seat with no accompanying ottoman. For forty hours a week, sizing up furniture and thinking of ridiculous names that had significance to me but was beyond imagination for anyone else visiting the vast array of uneven concrete floorspace.

March rolled around and life’s challenges became unusually stressful both mentally and emotionally. It was around this time last year I was having conversations about wanting to better myself in terms of what I ate, how I exercise, and what I deem a healthy amount of sleep. And in the new year, I became obsessive over numbers: units of insulin, calories, carbohydrates, minutes spent expelling energy, low blood sugar, high blood sugar, pounds on the scale, inches of my waist. I unknowingly started to go through something called “diabetic burnout.” At some point many diabetics will experience the notion of feeling like they can’t go on because of their disease. They become tired over the mathematical labor it takes to act as your own pancreas, so their diligence becomes lazy and worn out. Except my burnout was the opposite. I was overzealous with my equations in the kitchen that doubled as my laboratory. If you take one pound of cauliflower rice with X ounces of protein over four days divided by Y sodium preservative sauces from Trader Joe’s, how many times will Liz cry by the end of the week? I wanted to be accurate and exact. I couldn’t turn into the diabetic person who is the case for the misinformation most people receive about the disease. I didn’t want to lose my toes. I didn’t want people to see me as someone overweight and finding out I had diabetes and saying “Oh yep, that makes sense.” I even pulled out of a comedy show that required me to strip to my degree of comfort. “Comic Strip” looked fun and exciting and it was refreshing to see a comedy show that didn’t involve smoking weed or drinking, and at the time, it felt like most of these comedy shows weren’t for me at all. My self worth was at an all time low and I couldn’t get a break from the autoimmune disease taking up so much of my brainpower.

I started contemplating killing myself. There wasn’t a cure and there most likely won’t be, so why slog through the next 40 years at limited capacity? At first, I didn’t know how I’d go about it, but I narrowed out things like using a gun. I didn’t even know where to get a gun. Knives seemed drawn out and painful and the IKEA brand stainless steel edges weren’t going to be effective. I thought about using medication but I didn’t want to have my last experience in life be that feeling where you take mushrooms and then just sit there idly waiting for them to kick in. I was too short for the rail in my closet. This insanity in itself was exhausting, and I ended up mentioning it to my endocrinologist, who submitted me to the ER when I told her the ideations I was experiencing. I was crying a lot, tired, dragging my feet. I was at my appointment in sweatpants and the slippers I wore to rehab because I stopped caring about my outward appearance when I wasn’t on the clock. I looked like I had a drug problem with all the drugs I wasn’t actually on. I was losing my hair from being stressed, I stopped wearing make up, and I rarely responded to text messages.

My endocrinologist walked me to the ER where my mom met me. I’m the only one in my family with diabetes so before my diagnosis, no one had any familiarity with the disease, and a lot of my stress manifested through having to explain to everyone around me why I couldn’t have dinner yet, why I was sweaty and clammy behind the wheel of a moving car, why I’m eating dessert after dinner before everyone else, why I needed to stop at the 7/11 for extra Skittles to keep in my glovebox. I explained to the ER social worker person (I’m clearly still unsure of her exact title) who met with me that I wasn’t in danger, I’m just tired and frustrated I can’t have a break. I told her I’d rather have cancer since I’d maybe have a chance to beat it. I told her that my life was narrowed down to prescriptions and the fear of President FuckFace ultimately making it so that my life would become completely unmanageable while living in the expensive, Amazonian oasis that is Seattle. I spilled out all of my fears, frustrations, all while trying to stay sober at the same time. I went home and called my boyfriend, who scolded me for not telling him of my ideations sooner. I had spent six hours under the care of medical professionals and when I finally returned home to the small closet I was renting on Alki, I was essentially shamed for having any kind of emotions. It was a real “I’m not sad, just disappointed” kind of vibe. Looking back on it, I understand his concerns. But at the time, it really wasn’t what I wanted or needed to hear.

I returned to my job at the consignment store the next day and was promptly laid off. The store had been hemorrhaging money to make it a competitive environment for people who wanted to buy and sell furniture. But with the economy the way it was, people were more interested in receiving money for their flatpack crap they had lying around for months in a damp garage than spending money on a cosmic shaped couch dubbed “The Jetson.” This was the third time I had been laid off in my life and the only one where I remained sober of the rest of the day. I was becoming overwhelmed, aimless, and unclear about how to proceed, so I ended my relationship, deleted Facebook, and I wish I could say I hit the gym and lawyered up, but instead I resorted to eating cereal twice a day and sleeping through the literal days of my two favorite seasons. I quit comedy for roughly six weeks. The last thing I wanted to do was present my unpresentable self in front of a bunch of my peers and a bunch of strangers. My sense of routine was demolished, but finding a routine elsewhere and doing the research to find some structure wasn’t completely out of reach.

90% of the time before I go to sleep, I’m on Reddit with my phone three inches away from my face. I scroll through the qualms of history and Seinfeld gifs retrofitted to current politics. The expat subreddit came up, r/iwantout, and I looked at the kinds of questions people were asking about moving abroad. I had wanted to move abroad for years but never did the thorough Googling it entailed, and since I had all the time in the world in the middle of the night because I didn’t have a job or a relationship, I slowly started compiling information about the former communist bloc country now known as “Czechia” except no one calls it that. Like I’ve stated in this blog before, the reasons I moved were preserving my quality of life and improving my cost of living. Being an insulin dependent in Seattle without health insurance was going to be a gamble. So I did what Reddit suggested. I got out.

At first my decision was met with extreme hesitancy. “The Czech Republic? That seems drastic,” my mom told me. And over the next few months, I completely inundated her with information about cell phone plans, rent, the language, transportation options, healthcare in the US vs public healthcare in what was going to be my new home, geographical points of interest, how far away I was from Russia and the Ukraine, and carb counting on the metric system. While my mom was concerned, my dad was pleased. I was almost 30 and reached a point where I was no longer clinging to anything in Seattle. No boys. No future in comedy. No job. I made a list of reasons I would return to the US; a family member getting seriously ill or dying, zombie apocalypse, or an outbreak of nuclear war were all reasons to book a ticket home. Some people estimate I’ll be gone forever. Others estimate I’ll be home by March.

And so here I sit on New Year’s Eve, in Brno, with the sound of rumbling and bumbling fireworks all around my concrete home. I wonder how bad the PTSD is here from the multiple transitions of power that took place in this country over the last 100 years. I’m finally living by my own guidelines instead of the false, fabricated, grandeur expectations of others. There’s a lot of verbs I could apply to my situation. I escaped. I failed. I lived. But whatever I’m doing, my ham of a kitty hasn’t left my side and I’m making new friends while learning a very difficult language and I’m staying in contact with my family at home. I’ll be going to a friend’s flat, another expat from the states for boardgames and home-cooked vegetarian food. I don’t know how to sign off on this, much like the beginning of all this bullshit regarding not knowing how to begin. So I’ll say fuck this year. Actually, no. This year wasn’t bad: it was just different. I’m assuming 2018 will progress in the same way. That seems like a good note to end on. Goodnight from Brno, Happy New Year.