I do love you so. Entirely because you are a 'holiday' based solely on food... and gratitude, technically...
I was a teensy bit shocked recently though when I realised that the original thanksgiving began with pilgrims breaking bread with the 'indians' and, well, we've all seen 'dancing with wolves' and know how that turned out. So it does seem slightly ummmm strange to carry on pretending that all was friendly and helpful and thanksworthy. But hey, that's probably just me.
But still, if we overlook your somewhat dubious claims to origins of goodwill to all mankind, I appreciate you. And for this reason I'm going to do a cliched and self indulgent list of things I am grateful for: I warn you, parts/all of it may be soppy.
1. For Jeremy. Anytime I feel lost or disheartened, lonely or fed-up I think of Jeremy and feel unbelievably blessed to have him in my life on a daily basis and for us to be growing this marriage of ours. Yes he makes vinegar out of smushed up peaches and lays out a welcome mat to fruit flies, and he watches impossible amounts of Family Guy/ The Simpsons / South Park etc etc, but that's insignificant in comparison
2. For Grace. I don't much talk about God or faith, because I struggle to define myself within the parameters of the popular definitions available to me, but I do have a faith and this year I have felt so blessed and looked after. So many times I have felt entirely incapable and so many times great things have happened despite me... Jeremy can take some credit here also.
3. For family, and the fact that although they are 3000 miles away, they remain my most precious source of strength and support.
4. For friends, new and old. Making friends was the thing I was worried most about when I moved here and funnily enough has been the easiest thing. Jobs and driving on the other hand...And for old friends who have done a brilliant job at keeping in touch (shout out to Abs for sending me chocolate often enough that I still love chocolate and haven't been reprogrammed to think it's all hershey's and nasty.)...thanks to everyone in advance for visiting me in 2011!!
I warned you it was soppy. But tis the season after all.
x
You know it's time to move...
... when your apartment starts attacking you with bathroom tiles.
(I failed my driving test by the way folks... I've rebooked and will reveal the exact hilarious reason why I failed after I've passed)
But anyway...
There I am, taking my customary afternoon shower (because by the time I've got up, had coffee, checked email and caught up on whatever cheesey hospital dramas Jeremy refuses to tolerate it's more often than not the afternoon) when not one but 2 tiles come crashing down from above the shower head. Quite how they didn't hit me I'm not sure.
After reassuring myself that there wasn't a poltergeist (this involved waiting for tiles to start flying at me from all directions...that this was among my first thoughts says something about me) I washed the remaining conditioner out of my hair, standing as far away from the zone of tile-fire as possible, and then made a decision:
It's time to move.
Problem is I've known it was time to move since before I moved in. It was one of my conditions of moving here in the first place - along with learning to drive and getting a job...ahem...And we are looking for a place to buy, it's just not been found yet. I've come to the conclusion that realtors (aka estate agents) are geniuses with cameras and that architects have a few screws loose because it seems SO simple to build a house that has normal sized rooms but most have failed in this task and consequently we have so far failed in moving.
And now my bathroom, which was already pretty grim, is raining tiles on my head. I'm nearing a year of living here, and while I do feel like I've achieved a lot since moving (namely warding off depression and not feeling completely isolated, and technically I did get a job I just turned it down...), I would like to achieve something a teensy bit more tangible. A new house with tiles firmly fixed to the wall would do.
(I failed my driving test by the way folks... I've rebooked and will reveal the exact hilarious reason why I failed after I've passed)
But anyway...
There I am, taking my customary afternoon shower (because by the time I've got up, had coffee, checked email and caught up on whatever cheesey hospital dramas Jeremy refuses to tolerate it's more often than not the afternoon) when not one but 2 tiles come crashing down from above the shower head. Quite how they didn't hit me I'm not sure.
After reassuring myself that there wasn't a poltergeist (this involved waiting for tiles to start flying at me from all directions...that this was among my first thoughts says something about me) I washed the remaining conditioner out of my hair, standing as far away from the zone of tile-fire as possible, and then made a decision:
It's time to move.
Problem is I've known it was time to move since before I moved in. It was one of my conditions of moving here in the first place - along with learning to drive and getting a job...ahem...And we are looking for a place to buy, it's just not been found yet. I've come to the conclusion that realtors (aka estate agents) are geniuses with cameras and that architects have a few screws loose because it seems SO simple to build a house that has normal sized rooms but most have failed in this task and consequently we have so far failed in moving.
And now my bathroom, which was already pretty grim, is raining tiles on my head. I'm nearing a year of living here, and while I do feel like I've achieved a lot since moving (namely warding off depression and not feeling completely isolated, and technically I did get a job I just turned it down...), I would like to achieve something a teensy bit more tangible. A new house with tiles firmly fixed to the wall would do.
Approaching adulthood, perhaps.
I was thinking about keeping this secret so that if / when I fail, no one knows. But I think we all know by now that I'm not averse to airing my failures in public.
I'm taking my driving test tomorrow.
Yes, tomorrow I look my licenseless shame in the face and say 'bring it on'... or, more likely I whimper 'please, pretty please...'
The thing is I have no idea what to expect. Taking a driving test here seems to be like a lucky dip. People choose locations based on which testing-centres are renowned for giving easy tests. I've heard reports of people being asked to drive once around the block and that being deemed sufficient to pass. Or one friend who, when asked to back up 50 feet, backed up into oncoming traffic and was repeatedly given the opportunity to 're-do', until he kind of got it right. But equally there are internet rumours of people being failed for minor faults, and I definitely do know people who have failed here, for things much less than backing into the wrong side of the road.
I think the test in England is harder. It's certainly more expensive, takes longer than the reported 5 minutes and has to be taken on a standard unless you want to be limited to driving automatics for life (whereas here I can take the test on an automatic and then cheerfully get into a standard to drive home, never-mind if I've driven one before or not). And there's a system: you are guaranteed to be asked to do the whole gamut of driving tasks and X many minor faults = fail, 1 major fault = fail. I've even heard that they have a quota of passes for the day so if you're at the end of a day where lots of people have passed then you may be out of luck... although that sounds like a myth to me. Here though from what I've gathered, unless I'm unlucky enough to get one of the professional driving test testers (normally it's just a policeman... don't ask me why), it's all highly subjective and dependent on the person you get and whether they've had their weetabix.
OH and the best bit, just to make me feel that much more of a child for not yet having my license, my mother-in-law is going to be sitting in the back seat the whole time because Massachusetts dictates that I must have a 'sponsor' and Jeremy's at work so she's kindly volunteered. I'm not sure if I feel more sorry for her or me.
So, cross all flexible body parts people in the hope that by tomorrow afternoon I shall have graduated into adulthood. Either way I'll be sure to give a full report of my humiliation or triumph.
I'm taking my driving test tomorrow.
Yes, tomorrow I look my licenseless shame in the face and say 'bring it on'... or, more likely I whimper 'please, pretty please...'
The thing is I have no idea what to expect. Taking a driving test here seems to be like a lucky dip. People choose locations based on which testing-centres are renowned for giving easy tests. I've heard reports of people being asked to drive once around the block and that being deemed sufficient to pass. Or one friend who, when asked to back up 50 feet, backed up into oncoming traffic and was repeatedly given the opportunity to 're-do', until he kind of got it right. But equally there are internet rumours of people being failed for minor faults, and I definitely do know people who have failed here, for things much less than backing into the wrong side of the road.
I think the test in England is harder. It's certainly more expensive, takes longer than the reported 5 minutes and has to be taken on a standard unless you want to be limited to driving automatics for life (whereas here I can take the test on an automatic and then cheerfully get into a standard to drive home, never-mind if I've driven one before or not). And there's a system: you are guaranteed to be asked to do the whole gamut of driving tasks and X many minor faults = fail, 1 major fault = fail. I've even heard that they have a quota of passes for the day so if you're at the end of a day where lots of people have passed then you may be out of luck... although that sounds like a myth to me. Here though from what I've gathered, unless I'm unlucky enough to get one of the professional driving test testers (normally it's just a policeman... don't ask me why), it's all highly subjective and dependent on the person you get and whether they've had their weetabix.
OH and the best bit, just to make me feel that much more of a child for not yet having my license, my mother-in-law is going to be sitting in the back seat the whole time because Massachusetts dictates that I must have a 'sponsor' and Jeremy's at work so she's kindly volunteered. I'm not sure if I feel more sorry for her or me.
So, cross all flexible body parts people in the hope that by tomorrow afternoon I shall have graduated into adulthood. Either way I'll be sure to give a full report of my humiliation or triumph.
Leviathan
This week I took on the leviathan that is The American Work Ethic and, well, failed.
Basically I asked for the option to take a week’s unpaid leave because my European unionized self couldn’t quite bring myself to face 3 weeks of vacation (less any time where my immune system failed me and I had to use said ‘vacation’ in order to not puke all over my desk) and they said, ummmmm, no.
So I walked away. Or rather I sat on the couch and read the email and sighed.
Overnight I’ve gone from facing a prospect of gainful employment : a salary and a title that isn’t ‘unemployed layabout’ to being ‘unemployed layabout’ once more. But I’m ok about this. Here’s why:
1. 1. I can take my driving test without mortal terror of failing, since there’s no job waiting for me where I have to drive across New England in the first week.
Hmmmm I think that may be the primary and possibly only reason. On the bright side, the mortal fear did kick me into learning how to drive within a month, after having put it off for a good decade.
My other reasons that I tell myself to make me feel better are:
1. I’m not yet ready to compromise on the criteria I set when I first decided to move here (even though I know I may well have to eventually since that leviathan is pretty indomitable)
Ok so I’ve only got one reason on that also…
I’m lucky because I have a Jeremy who is OK with me putting off compromise until I can stomach it a little easier. Although, if we look at it from the other angle (which I do find useful), if I hadn’t moved to this crazy country then I’d be comfortable in my 5 weeks vacation, unlimited sick leave and in close proximity to family and friends so therefore able to use those 5 weeks on things other than visiting Devon… so while I am very grateful for my loving and supportive husband, this was all in the deal to begin with (this particular angle really just makes me feel a little less guilty for turning down a salary... love you Jeremy x)
Back to square one it is then, and an earnest weighing of the pros and cons of being a teacher.
I miss the EU.
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