I'm not feeling particularly homesick right now, so I figure now is a good time to write about it. I can't write when the homesickmist descends - at those times I don't think I could attach words to the feeling - they'd slip off and meld in with the grey and gloopy gloom.
Homesickness is one of those terms which means nothing unless you experience it. Heart-break is another, along with love-lorn and green-with-envy. A special class of cliches which suddenly break into 3D given the glasses of experience - much less pretty and much more heart-wrenching (oops, there's another) than Avatar.
In fact, I think it's hard to talk about one cliche without employing multiple others - so that ultimately you only talk to a select group of people who have had a cliched experience...of course the fact that they're cliches means that applies to a majority of people, so that doesn't limit the communication too much.
The closest thing I've experienced to homesickness is heartbreak. I suppose it is heart-break in a way. A grief for loss of 'home' - of familiarity and the people who reinforce our identity. We spend so much of our lives trying to stand out, to be different, notable, extraordinary. With homesickness I find myself longing to be ordinary - to speak without immediately distinguishing myself as 'different', to be part of the crowd, to be sure of how things work and where I fit within them.
The other similarity between homesickness and heartbreak is the tendency for it to hit you out of nowhere. I'll be happy - cooking or cleaning or joking around - and then out of nowhere I'll feel entirely flattened, the air sucked out of me (these cliches are unavoidable it seems) and I'll want to sit on the floor and cry.
Jeremy is getting used to these sudden swings of mood. Generally all I need is a hug to give me the strength to push back the gloopy-gloom and resume the happy. But the way it swoops in from nowhere means I never feel completely safe - like sleeping with one eye open for danger - I'm waiting for the day when I fully close my eyes and feel at home in the moment. I'm scared of that day too - because does that mean that I've forgotten 'home' - that I've switched my allegiances and betrayed my history? Or will it just be that I've transferred what 'home' means onto Jeremy and the family unit that is 'us'?
The latter doesn't make me want to cry, so I'll go with that.
1 month (and a bit) on
In the past month (and a few days) I have (in no particular order):
- moved countries
- got married
- had at least 2 panic attacks
- cried uncontrollably about 3 times (and somewhat controllably a bunch of other times),
- broken my laptop (responsible for at least 2 of the 3 times),
- terrified Jeremy into fixing my laptop (by crying),
- said goodbye to my mum (more crying),
- read 3 very good books (shout out to William Boyd for 'Any Human Heart' - brilliant),
- opened but not read the drivers manual approximately once a day,
- baked brownies, lemon drizzle cake and cheese scones,
- got a social security number
- opened a bank account
- moaned enough about the lack of decent chocolate in America that at least 3 people have sent me chocolate in the post,
- acquired a mobile phone
- been running out of sheer boredom,
- considered applying to do a PhD as an easier way to meet people and make friends,
- signed up for a volunteering opportunity,
- eaten my weight in Jelly Belly,
- got myself hooked on private practice and flashforward (thanks hulu)
- slept for over 11 hours on multiple occasions,
- come to terms with having a very different surname
- reorganised most of the cupboards in the apartment,
- sent off visa forms,
- joined the library
- nearly engaged in a fist fight with a doctor about visa forms,
- suppressed the urge 10 times a day to throw Jeremy's very loud ticking clock out the window into oncoming traffic
- mastered skype
- dragged Jeremy to Ikea
- and Old Navy
- and Gap
- and Target
- bought Jeremy his first ever pair of Jeans EVER (this may be my biggest achievement of all)
It's been a month full of effort and will power. Neither of which come naturally to me. It's also been the wettest march on Massachusetts record, which hasn't much helped the effort and will power. But somehow I'm still standing.
A lot of the credit goes to Jeremy for making me coffee every morning so that I have a reason to get out of bed (you can't drink coffee lying down - I found that out the hard way), to my mum and friends who have sent care-packages to keep me stocked in edible chocolate and to the many many people who are praying and / or sending positive vibes and thoughts and candy my way.
I feel like I've turned a corner and gone past the hardest bit. But that may just be because the sun is shining and it's Friday - I've also not yet got into the driving seat of a car, so that might set me back a few paces (Jeremy keeps telling me how easy it is - I have a feeling he's in for a nasty surprise).
I'm happy. Not giddy smiley happy - not all the time at least. But calm I-can-cry-and-be-homesick-but-after-I'm-done-crying-I'll-be-OK-again happy. Marriage is beyond description. On the face of it there's nothing to describe and yet the world has changed.
- moved countries
- got married
- had at least 2 panic attacks
- cried uncontrollably about 3 times (and somewhat controllably a bunch of other times),
- broken my laptop (responsible for at least 2 of the 3 times),
- terrified Jeremy into fixing my laptop (by crying),
- said goodbye to my mum (more crying),
- read 3 very good books (shout out to William Boyd for 'Any Human Heart' - brilliant),
- opened but not read the drivers manual approximately once a day,
- baked brownies, lemon drizzle cake and cheese scones,
- got a social security number
- opened a bank account
- moaned enough about the lack of decent chocolate in America that at least 3 people have sent me chocolate in the post,
- acquired a mobile phone
- been running out of sheer boredom,
- considered applying to do a PhD as an easier way to meet people and make friends,
- signed up for a volunteering opportunity,
- eaten my weight in Jelly Belly,
- got myself hooked on private practice and flashforward (thanks hulu)
- slept for over 11 hours on multiple occasions,
- come to terms with having a very different surname
- reorganised most of the cupboards in the apartment,
- sent off visa forms,
- joined the library
- nearly engaged in a fist fight with a doctor about visa forms,
- suppressed the urge 10 times a day to throw Jeremy's very loud ticking clock out the window into oncoming traffic
- mastered skype
- dragged Jeremy to Ikea
- and Old Navy
- and Gap
- and Target
- bought Jeremy his first ever pair of Jeans EVER (this may be my biggest achievement of all)
It's been a month full of effort and will power. Neither of which come naturally to me. It's also been the wettest march on Massachusetts record, which hasn't much helped the effort and will power. But somehow I'm still standing.
A lot of the credit goes to Jeremy for making me coffee every morning so that I have a reason to get out of bed (you can't drink coffee lying down - I found that out the hard way), to my mum and friends who have sent care-packages to keep me stocked in edible chocolate and to the many many people who are praying and / or sending positive vibes and thoughts and candy my way.
I feel like I've turned a corner and gone past the hardest bit. But that may just be because the sun is shining and it's Friday - I've also not yet got into the driving seat of a car, so that might set me back a few paces (Jeremy keeps telling me how easy it is - I have a feeling he's in for a nasty surprise).
I'm happy. Not giddy smiley happy - not all the time at least. But calm I-can-cry-and-be-homesick-but-after-I'm-done-crying-I'll-be-OK-again happy. Marriage is beyond description. On the face of it there's nothing to describe and yet the world has changed.
Not my kind of tea party...
I recently got quite excited when I heard about the tea party movement in America. At last, I thought. Americans are recognising the brilliance of tea and cake.
Alas.
This glorious concept has been hijacked by Sarah Palin et al to champion the republican loony cause - and not a single cucumber sandwich in sight.
(Yes, I know it's stealing its name from the day Americans tipped lots of perfectly good tea into the sea - another sacrilege - in protest for us Brits taxing them. I feel like if they'd only just sat down with a cup and a slice of victoria sponge, instead of putting it in brine then the same result could have been achieved in a much more yummy fashion. )
So what is to be done?
I could defame them, embarrass them, point out all the many holes in their arguments. Or I could just sit back with a cup of tea and a scone and let them do it all for me. Fear not. The good name of Tea will not be besmirched for long. As they say on their own website, they only have 114,369 signatures for the repeal of the bill-to-help-people, and while they're right, that is 11.4% of a million, it's also 0.37% of the population of America.
I think they should all have a cup of tea and calm the heck down. And while they're at it, they can think a bit about the Christian values they espouse so fanatically: "And God said we should all carry weapons and prevent the poor from receiving care"...something like that, right?
Alas.
This glorious concept has been hijacked by Sarah Palin et al to champion the republican loony cause - and not a single cucumber sandwich in sight.
(Yes, I know it's stealing its name from the day Americans tipped lots of perfectly good tea into the sea - another sacrilege - in protest for us Brits taxing them. I feel like if they'd only just sat down with a cup and a slice of victoria sponge, instead of putting it in brine then the same result could have been achieved in a much more yummy fashion. )
So what is to be done?
I could defame them, embarrass them, point out all the many holes in their arguments. Or I could just sit back with a cup of tea and a scone and let them do it all for me. Fear not. The good name of Tea will not be besmirched for long. As they say on their own website, they only have 114,369 signatures for the repeal of the bill-to-help-people, and while they're right, that is 11.4% of a million, it's also 0.37% of the population of America.
I think they should all have a cup of tea and calm the heck down. And while they're at it, they can think a bit about the Christian values they espouse so fanatically: "And God said we should all carry weapons and prevent the poor from receiving care"...something like that, right?
Dear America...
I have a few complaints.
I'm going to forgive you the gaps in public toilets, the insane number and size of pot-holes, the dearth of electric kettles and the poverty of the public transport system. You're a big country, you mainly drink coffee (and well done on the shunning of instant - even I'm not going to champion that), you have massive extremes in weather and for some reason you seem to have a deeprooted fear of getting trapped in public toilets (either that or a latent fetish for peeping on people while they pee)... I'm not judging, every country has its quirks and goodness knows England has more than most. What I'm struggling to get past is quite how under-represented British food stuffs are here and how much you see fit to charge me for that little taste of home.
For example.
Sausages. How did a country, such as yourself, become quite so powerful without ever mastering the art of sausage making? Chorizo has its place for sure, and Italian sausage is pretty tasty but what have you got against Cumberland? Pork and apple? Or just a good old inoffensive Chipolata? To make matters worse, the only sausages I've ever found here, that have any similarities to my beloved English sausages were called 'Irish Bangers'. Irish. The cheek. They weren't all that good though so maybe they can stick to being Irish.
Chocolate. I am baffled. Baffled! That Hershey's is your primary brand of chocolate. Even Americans don't like Hershey's, although they don't seem to have realised quite how foul it is.I can only deduce that there must be a very strong Chocolate hating lobby (probably linked to the Christian far right, since they seem to be responsible for lots of strange things) that campaigns to keep Hershey's in power. One word. Galaxy.
Squash. Not butternut or spaghetti, summer, acorn or pumpkin. Robinson's Squash. The reasonably healthy concentrated juice drink which makes even London water palatable. And do you sell it? Yes. You do, for EIGHT DOLLARS A BOTTLE. If that's not discrimination I don't know what is. I can buy wine for less...in fact maybe that's exactly what I'll do...
Prawn Cocktail crisps. I need them. And I promise, this country would be a far better place with them.
Baked Beans.... ok I actually found out that I can now buy them here and not for an extortionate mark up. This is what progress looks like.
You do get major points though for Jelly Belly, Greys Anatomy, Affordable Sushi, BBQ (English barbecues do have their place but in a war, American BBQ would win solely because of the addition of mashed potato), Sunshine and ummmmmmmmmmm Jeremy. So all is not lost. Just sort out those issues in fact and I think we may be able to be friends.
Yours hopefully,
Hannah
I'm going to forgive you the gaps in public toilets, the insane number and size of pot-holes, the dearth of electric kettles and the poverty of the public transport system. You're a big country, you mainly drink coffee (and well done on the shunning of instant - even I'm not going to champion that), you have massive extremes in weather and for some reason you seem to have a deeprooted fear of getting trapped in public toilets (either that or a latent fetish for peeping on people while they pee)... I'm not judging, every country has its quirks and goodness knows England has more than most. What I'm struggling to get past is quite how under-represented British food stuffs are here and how much you see fit to charge me for that little taste of home.
For example.
Sausages. How did a country, such as yourself, become quite so powerful without ever mastering the art of sausage making? Chorizo has its place for sure, and Italian sausage is pretty tasty but what have you got against Cumberland? Pork and apple? Or just a good old inoffensive Chipolata? To make matters worse, the only sausages I've ever found here, that have any similarities to my beloved English sausages were called 'Irish Bangers'. Irish. The cheek. They weren't all that good though so maybe they can stick to being Irish.
Chocolate. I am baffled. Baffled! That Hershey's is your primary brand of chocolate. Even Americans don't like Hershey's, although they don't seem to have realised quite how foul it is.I can only deduce that there must be a very strong Chocolate hating lobby (probably linked to the Christian far right, since they seem to be responsible for lots of strange things) that campaigns to keep Hershey's in power. One word. Galaxy.
Squash. Not butternut or spaghetti, summer, acorn or pumpkin. Robinson's Squash. The reasonably healthy concentrated juice drink which makes even London water palatable. And do you sell it? Yes. You do, for EIGHT DOLLARS A BOTTLE. If that's not discrimination I don't know what is. I can buy wine for less...in fact maybe that's exactly what I'll do...
Prawn Cocktail crisps. I need them. And I promise, this country would be a far better place with them.
Baked Beans.... ok I actually found out that I can now buy them here and not for an extortionate mark up. This is what progress looks like.
You do get major points though for Jelly Belly, Greys Anatomy, Affordable Sushi, BBQ (English barbecues do have their place but in a war, American BBQ would win solely because of the addition of mashed potato), Sunshine and ummmmmmmmmmm Jeremy. So all is not lost. Just sort out those issues in fact and I think we may be able to be friends.
Yours hopefully,
Hannah
Turns out there is such a thing as too much 'me'.
I have a distant memory of relishing days spent alone. Time to catch up on life-admin, sleep, to breathe in deeply and push back against the crush and clamour of London life in order to make enough head-space to survive the week ahead. Precious time spent drinking lattes alone in coffee shops, buying take-out sushi and sitting alone in parks reading the newspaper or floating on daydreams. I used to panic if I had no free days in the weeks ahead- I'd feel like I was losing control, like that time alone was absolutely essential to my ability to function smoothly.
Now of course, all I have is alone time and it's getting to me a little. I'm so fed up of being inside my head I've dug out my ancient mp3 player (never did get on the ipod bandwagon, although I'm holding out for Jeremy to upgrade so I can have his old one) so that I can have music in my head rather than just me.
I'm pretty fed up of me.
In fact, I think the time may have come to get out my 'lonely, be my friend' sign and sit on a street corner. Truth be told I wouldn't look all that out of place on certain street corners in Waltham.
I've reached the second stage in Operation Build A Life. Up til now it's all just been form filling which, while boring and occasionally stressful, comes with handy 'how-to' guides and online forums. This next stage rather relies on me having a personality and being capable and some days I'm not entirely sure I can pull it off.
So what do I need to do? I need to meet people and make friends and I need my CV to not be dead in the water by the time I'm actually permitted to work.
So I figure I'll just volunteer. Can't be too hard right? Given I spent 2.5 years helping other people to volunteer, you'd think I'd have a pretty good idea as to how to go about it myself.
Hmmmmm
If I were in England maybe I'd have a good idea. Here volunteering looks suspiciously like charities are just trying to fill should-be-paid-for-positions with poor unemployed people. The majority of interesting opportunities are for 20 hours a week for a minimum of 6 months. I'm hoping that in 6 months I wont have 20 hours a week spare. Where oh where is Time Together when you need it?
The other problem is that the volunteering opportunities are all in far flung suburbs that would take me over 2 hours on Boston public transport to get to. Which means before I sign up to working-full-time-for-free, I need to learn to drive. Which means I need get a learners' permit. Which means I need to open the drivers' manual I got out from the library and actually learn the rules of the American road to take the theory test I need to pass before I can get a learners' permit.
Whoever thought that making friends would begin by learning that a Stop sign is octagonal?
This can be done. Unfortunately it all relies on me doing it and I'm feeling pretty lazy. I have enough people behind me with their feet at the ready to give me a kick up the arse though so I doubt I'll be permitted to stall for long.
Now of course, all I have is alone time and it's getting to me a little. I'm so fed up of being inside my head I've dug out my ancient mp3 player (never did get on the ipod bandwagon, although I'm holding out for Jeremy to upgrade so I can have his old one) so that I can have music in my head rather than just me.
I'm pretty fed up of me.
In fact, I think the time may have come to get out my 'lonely, be my friend' sign and sit on a street corner. Truth be told I wouldn't look all that out of place on certain street corners in Waltham.
I've reached the second stage in Operation Build A Life. Up til now it's all just been form filling which, while boring and occasionally stressful, comes with handy 'how-to' guides and online forums. This next stage rather relies on me having a personality and being capable and some days I'm not entirely sure I can pull it off.
So what do I need to do? I need to meet people and make friends and I need my CV to not be dead in the water by the time I'm actually permitted to work.
So I figure I'll just volunteer. Can't be too hard right? Given I spent 2.5 years helping other people to volunteer, you'd think I'd have a pretty good idea as to how to go about it myself.
Hmmmmm
If I were in England maybe I'd have a good idea. Here volunteering looks suspiciously like charities are just trying to fill should-be-paid-for-positions with poor unemployed people. The majority of interesting opportunities are for 20 hours a week for a minimum of 6 months. I'm hoping that in 6 months I wont have 20 hours a week spare. Where oh where is Time Together when you need it?
The other problem is that the volunteering opportunities are all in far flung suburbs that would take me over 2 hours on Boston public transport to get to. Which means before I sign up to working-full-time-for-free, I need to learn to drive. Which means I need get a learners' permit. Which means I need to open the drivers' manual I got out from the library and actually learn the rules of the American road to take the theory test I need to pass before I can get a learners' permit.
Whoever thought that making friends would begin by learning that a Stop sign is octagonal?
This can be done. Unfortunately it all relies on me doing it and I'm feeling pretty lazy. I have enough people behind me with their feet at the ready to give me a kick up the arse though so I doubt I'll be permitted to stall for long.
Mama said there'd be days like this...
So far today I have accomplished absolutely nothing. I've cried a few times - not really because of anything as much as something to do and I wrote a list of things to do (besides cry) but haven't done them so it's basically a list of failures.
At the moment I'm feeling a bit like a spring weather forecast: sunny with patches of cloud and showers. Although today it's mainly showers and frowns with the odd quiet spell of reading. I'm homesick, my laptop is still out of action and I really want to moan my head off except I'm not allowed.
"Just remember that you chose this Hannah, and you're living the dream."
(Mum told me not to quote her in my blog but I'm ignoring her. Sorry.)
Living the Dream.
I know this is just a phase to get through, that summer is just around the corner (literally and metaphorically) and spring has its beautiful days for sure - on Saturday we spent the whole day sitting outside in the sunshine with friends, barbecuing USA style (which basically means cooking meat til it gives up all resolve to do anything but be delicious and infusing it with so much smoke that if you ate it every day you'd almost certainly die of cancer within the year. Yum.) and being married is proving to be more of a blessing and a comfort than I could ever have hoped for - but still, there are days like this.
I could end on a positive note, but I don't really want to. I'll be fine. Today sucks. That is all.
At the moment I'm feeling a bit like a spring weather forecast: sunny with patches of cloud and showers. Although today it's mainly showers and frowns with the odd quiet spell of reading. I'm homesick, my laptop is still out of action and I really want to moan my head off except I'm not allowed.
"Just remember that you chose this Hannah, and you're living the dream."
(Mum told me not to quote her in my blog but I'm ignoring her. Sorry.)
Living the Dream.
I know this is just a phase to get through, that summer is just around the corner (literally and metaphorically) and spring has its beautiful days for sure - on Saturday we spent the whole day sitting outside in the sunshine with friends, barbecuing USA style (which basically means cooking meat til it gives up all resolve to do anything but be delicious and infusing it with so much smoke that if you ate it every day you'd almost certainly die of cancer within the year. Yum.) and being married is proving to be more of a blessing and a comfort than I could ever have hoped for - but still, there are days like this.
I could end on a positive note, but I don't really want to. I'll be fine. Today sucks. That is all.
Catastrophe
On Tuesday, disaster struck.
All had been going well - It had stopped raining, I'd finally finished and enveloped the visa forms, we'd had yummy sushi for dinner and I had a glass of wine and an episode of House waiting for me in the living room. All I had to do was walk the 10 steps from kitchen to living room without upset.
I failed.
Any spectator watching my reaction to what happened next would have thought a friend or loved one had just been diagnosed with a life threatening illness, or I'd discovered the sun would explode in a matter of minutes.
Have I added enough suspense in yet?
OK so I dropped my laptop.
I swore rather a lot and fell to my knees - at first with a shocked despondency which quickly gave way to sobbing and more swearing. Jeremy meanwhile attempted to revive my laptop, giving me false hope when it turned on but then crashed (which it continued to do every time I turned it on, which I did about every 5 minutes just in case it had had a change of heart). It was making some weird squeaky scrabbly noises so my final diagnosis was that a mouse had got trapped. Jeremy decided the hard-drive was bust. However, one $60 hard-drive later and it's still not cooperating.
I feel bereft.
I've stopped crying - at about 3pm yesterday I gave myself a very strict talking to which went something like this:
Hannah: (out-loud...I know, doesn't bode well for my sanity but I'm alone most of the day) "Stop being such a wuss and crying. It's only a lap top"
Hannah: (in-my-head...I feel if only one side of the conversation is audible then it's slightly further away from full blown madness. The day I start doing different voices for the different sides is the day I check into a clinic.)
"It's not just a lap top. It's my connection to all my friends and family. It's my sanity"
(considering the talking to myself only happened post lap-top-death, I had a point)
Hannah: (out-loud) "Grow up. If it can't be fixed you can buy a new one. You have a husband who loves you and is trying to fix the thing and there's a computer downstairs you can use."
Hannah: (in-my-head, sulky) "In the dungeon."
Hannah: (out-loud, exasperated) "It's a basement."
Hannah: (in-my-head... turns away in a strop to sulk)
The sensible Hannah won out. She had to really because the other Hannah was being particularly childish and rather annoying and therein lies the way of the abyss.
Meanwhile I'm still without a laptop, which while not a full-blown life-shattering apocalyptic disaster, it's pretty bad. There is a computer downstairs (hence the blogging) but it's about 20 years old and not particularly sprightly and while the basement isn't really a dungeon, it's dark and not really where I want to spend all my unemployed and newly emigrated time.
On the bright side though, I'm rather pleased with myself. OK I did have a minor breakdown where I lost perspective for about 24 hours but I decided against depression and despondency and that's errrrrr good. Because I know very well that depression and despondency are lurking. They sense my vulnerable support-network-3000-miles-away state and they know I can be a total wuss sometimes. I know it too, which is why I've taken to talking to myself.
Jeremy, who of course is far more practical and level headed and I'm sure thinks my attachment to my laptop is a little unhinged, has been wonderful. He appears entirely unphased by my mini-breakdown, accepts my unequivocal need for lap-based-computing and has set about fixing the laptop with determination and zeal.
I think this may be the first bump in the road to life-settlement...I knew there would be the odd bump and bruise, I just wasn't expecting my poor beloved laptop to be at the receiving end. RIP dear friend...unless Jeremy succeeds in Lazarusing you back of course (oh ye of little faith and all that).
(Abbie, I just want you to know that the 'Hannah and her hands' song is entirely inappropriate and unwelcome here. Hannah's hands are most definitely in the dog house. I doubt they'll ever be permitted to lift anything of value ever again.)
All had been going well - It had stopped raining, I'd finally finished and enveloped the visa forms, we'd had yummy sushi for dinner and I had a glass of wine and an episode of House waiting for me in the living room. All I had to do was walk the 10 steps from kitchen to living room without upset.
I failed.
Any spectator watching my reaction to what happened next would have thought a friend or loved one had just been diagnosed with a life threatening illness, or I'd discovered the sun would explode in a matter of minutes.
Have I added enough suspense in yet?
OK so I dropped my laptop.
I swore rather a lot and fell to my knees - at first with a shocked despondency which quickly gave way to sobbing and more swearing. Jeremy meanwhile attempted to revive my laptop, giving me false hope when it turned on but then crashed (which it continued to do every time I turned it on, which I did about every 5 minutes just in case it had had a change of heart). It was making some weird squeaky scrabbly noises so my final diagnosis was that a mouse had got trapped. Jeremy decided the hard-drive was bust. However, one $60 hard-drive later and it's still not cooperating.
I feel bereft.
I've stopped crying - at about 3pm yesterday I gave myself a very strict talking to which went something like this:
Hannah: (out-loud...I know, doesn't bode well for my sanity but I'm alone most of the day) "Stop being such a wuss and crying. It's only a lap top"
Hannah: (in-my-head...I feel if only one side of the conversation is audible then it's slightly further away from full blown madness. The day I start doing different voices for the different sides is the day I check into a clinic.)
"It's not just a lap top. It's my connection to all my friends and family. It's my sanity"
(considering the talking to myself only happened post lap-top-death, I had a point)
Hannah: (out-loud) "Grow up. If it can't be fixed you can buy a new one. You have a husband who loves you and is trying to fix the thing and there's a computer downstairs you can use."
Hannah: (in-my-head, sulky) "In the dungeon."
Hannah: (out-loud, exasperated) "It's a basement."
Hannah: (in-my-head... turns away in a strop to sulk)
The sensible Hannah won out. She had to really because the other Hannah was being particularly childish and rather annoying and therein lies the way of the abyss.
Meanwhile I'm still without a laptop, which while not a full-blown life-shattering apocalyptic disaster, it's pretty bad. There is a computer downstairs (hence the blogging) but it's about 20 years old and not particularly sprightly and while the basement isn't really a dungeon, it's dark and not really where I want to spend all my unemployed and newly emigrated time.
On the bright side though, I'm rather pleased with myself. OK I did have a minor breakdown where I lost perspective for about 24 hours but I decided against depression and despondency and that's errrrrr good. Because I know very well that depression and despondency are lurking. They sense my vulnerable support-network-3000-miles-away state and they know I can be a total wuss sometimes. I know it too, which is why I've taken to talking to myself.
Jeremy, who of course is far more practical and level headed and I'm sure thinks my attachment to my laptop is a little unhinged, has been wonderful. He appears entirely unphased by my mini-breakdown, accepts my unequivocal need for lap-based-computing and has set about fixing the laptop with determination and zeal.
I think this may be the first bump in the road to life-settlement...I knew there would be the odd bump and bruise, I just wasn't expecting my poor beloved laptop to be at the receiving end. RIP dear friend...unless Jeremy succeeds in Lazarusing you back of course (oh ye of little faith and all that).
(Abbie, I just want you to know that the 'Hannah and her hands' song is entirely inappropriate and unwelcome here. Hannah's hands are most definitely in the dog house. I doubt they'll ever be permitted to lift anything of value ever again.)
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