Ooops

I haven’t posted in a long time.

I got stressed and anxious and sitting at a computer was the last thing I wanted to be doing. The move kind of sprung itself on me, I had been working towards it for two years and then all of a sudden I was buying tickets and packing my bag and it was more than I could handle – packing up my life as my family are all getting set for a christmas together.

Rus had a few personal things going on in his own world, things that aren’t mine to mention here, but it meant he wasn’t around to chat that much and that certainly made it a lot harder.

I was going to just let the blog go, stop writing and switch to tumblr full time but that isn’t the place for long rambling posts and writing does make me feel… something. I don’t know how to describe it, it isn’t like I’m miserable and this is a place to let go, to release all my torment or anything like that because my life is pretty good right now. I guess I just enjoy it.

So I packed up stuff, kissed my parents farewell and hopped on a plane to LA. A week later I was married and that was a weird feeling. I store Rus in my phone as Husband! just to remind myself that yes that really happened (in a good way).

America is bizarre, it’s very similar to the UK – mainly because of the language, but then it’s very different – mainly because of the Americans. I’m settling in and it’s becoming more normal but I’m still pining for home in some ways. We cooked a big roast dinner on Christmas Eve, it was dark out, we had christmas pop music playing and it was hot in the kitchen so I opened the door sincerely expecting to be hit by that wall of cold air, so cold it catches in the back of your throat and makes your chest feel damp.

Instead it was warmer outside than in the kitchen.

When things like that happen and catch me unawares I want to go and sit on my bed and close the curtains and take a nap. But I don’t, I power through and hope no one notices the lump in my throat.

So I’m hoping writing will help me straighten out any sad feelings in my head, help me document any fun things we do and also give me a bit of a hobby. I can’t work for quite a while and, living with his parents, I have very few household chores to do.

Visa interview

On Wednesday I packed up all my proof, forms, certificates and photos and headed to London for my appointment at the US embassy.

Getting the appointment was a bit of a struggle. I hit an odd time at the embassy, they were swapping from a snail mail process to an online one and then their government malfunctioned and closed down for a few weeks [to probably play GTAV]. This also coincided with the Royal Mail going private and all the joyous postage problems that have followed.

I was expecting my appointment letter to come around the beginning of October. When I hadn’t heard anything I called and was told an appointment had been issued and I would receive notice of it within the week. Two weeks later I had nothing so I called again and was told this time that there was no case attached to my file number. A panic attack inducing statement.

Much googling later I found and online query form and sent a simple email explaining when my medical had been, when my paperwork was submitted and asking when I was likely to hear something.

They responded within a few days to tell me that I was scheduled for the 7th at 0800 and that this had been sent in writing.

Finally!

The letter never turned up and still hasn’t. So I packed everything I could think I would need and set off to London with my mum in tow.

The interview was a lot less formal than I expected. I kind of got the impression that everything was set before I had got there and that this was just formalities. Of course I could be wrong, people probably do get rejected at this point, I’m just good at being oblivious so seriousness. Seriously, ask my boss!

I was in the embassy for two hours and ten minutes, plus queueing outside for 30 minutes. I was being “interviewed” for about 2o minutes, at the very most, which was split in half. The first half checked my certificates and took a payment, the second half asked the questions and gave me the approval.

Now to begin to set dates, pack my stuff up and start saying my farewells!

Visa update!

I have been fretting and worrying ever since my medical about getting my interview date.

Honestly, I even rang up the medical office to double check my results were okay. Which sounds insane but I only did it because I gave a friend my new number recently only to find I had switched the last two digits around. So I managed to convince myself I had done the same at the medical, that I did in fact have TB and they’d called some poor random person up and left them a voicemail telling them to come back and have a lung removed [or whatever it is they do to cure you of TB] ASAP.

The ladies in the medical office were very nice and assured me I have neither syphilis or TB and that the embassy had been informed of that and the fact that I am definitely a lady – not a classy one as I let doctors peep in my pants, but a lady nonetheless.

Then about a week later worry set in that I hadn’t had a letter. The US government close down was a nice little break from worrying for me. Then they got their acts together the U.S embassy re-opened and I started re-stressing.

It all reached boiling point the other weekend when I gave myself a migraine and knew something had to give. I decided to get active and harass the embassy into seeing me. I called up the call centre and spoke to a very nice guy called Jason who told me my case had been updated on the 11th October and a letter would be through soon with my interview details on it.

I waited and worried and waited and wondered and waited and nothing came!

A week later I started scouring the internet – the embassy site is like a labyrinth, the same link never takes you to the same place twice. And I’m 96% sure that US Embassy is a language in it’s own right. I’ve never read so many codes and acronyms in my life! I managed to find a link where you could submit queries online and, providing the answer isn’t already on the website, someone will get back to you within 5 days.

Perfect!

I kindly asked the computer what was happening with my application, stating that I had submitted my paperwork and been for my medical over a month a go.

The computer kindly emailed me back just a day and a half later and told me my interview is in fact scheduled for 7th November!!

I was instantly excited, all happy and bouncy like a rabbit. Then my chihuahua joined in the celebration and I got a bit lump in my throat. Then I started eyeballing my room and realising what a big task packing it all up is going to be. Then I worried about my interview. Then my mum came home and I was both excited and lumpy-throated. And then I realised we had best start laying down some concrete wedding plans because I’ll be getting married in ABOUT FIVE WEEKS!

And if that isn’t a terrifyingly excitingly stressfully amazing thing then I don’t know that is!

 

It’s a good job you don’t believe in signs…

My best friend muttered these words to me as we sat eating hot wings in TGIFridays about a week ago.

I’d just finished my rant on the American Government Close Down and having no idea what was happening with my visa. The website said embassy was still open to serve American citizens, I am not one of those but this is kind of serving Rus so maybe it counted. To be honest, when something is worrying me I do a great job of sticking my head in the sand. I worry and fret and freak out but I don’t actually do anything proactive. Because while I’m fretting but not googling they’re all still, technically irrational worries. Once I have confirmation that I’m right, that’s when the real problems began.

So I looked on the embassy website to answer questions people were throwing at me… I just didn’t look deep enough to get any real hard facts.

If I think about what my friend says I can’t help but laugh. I’m a logical person, I don’t believe in signs, yet even I must admit this could quite easily be seen as a string of DON’T DO THIS! signs from the off.
First the engagement ring didn’t fit, then the visa application got lost in the post and then when we are meters from the finish line the government closes down and everything comes to a stand still.

Everything is up and running again and in full swing. I called the Embassy call centre to try and find out what kind of delay I’m looking at, I really really want to be there for Rus’ birthday. The guy I spoke to on the phone, Jason he was called, told me that my file was last updated on the 11th October and an interview date should be through within a week… that’s by Tuesday! My vague calculations had me expecting one by tomorrow so it would seem I’m not actually behind at all, there has been no delay and I signed on for another month of work for absolutely no reason.

Thus I resolve I will STOP my habit of ignoring things, no more burying my head in the sand and choosing to just worry irrationally.

 

Book Recommendation

The Girl You Left Behind by Jojo Moyes is just beautiful.

The story follows two women, Sophie and Liv. Sophie lives in a small french town which is occupied by Germans in 1916 – a refreshing change from all the WW2 period pieces. Liv is a 30 year old widow living in modern day London. Their lives are intwined through a painting that is gifted to them by their husbands. I don’t want to say more on the plot because no one likes a spoiler.

The book is melancholy at times, both women are hopelessly lost without their husbands, in the case of Sophie’s story all the women in the town are lost without their husbands. There are many similarities between the two women’s stories, Liv’s life is so completely changed by the death of her husband, just as Sophie’s is by war coming to her home town. The author cunningly repeats the occasional turn of phrase for both Liv and Sophie, it’s executed with subtlety which is a lovely touch, a way of further bringing these two women closer despite the 100 year difference.

The book has had me in raptures for the past three days and now it’s over I feel somewhat lost. It’s a feeling you can only get when you finish a book which has moved you, filled with characters who you have adored and cared for and shown you something new or taught you a valued lesson.

At the moment things with Rus and I are up in the air. We haven’t been able to talk as frequently as before his new job and it’s definitely a struggle. Then the government have decided to shut up shop and no one seems to know what that will mean for visa applications – side note, if you know please enlighten me! I feel a little helpless about our situation, as if it is never going to work out. Thus, on a small scale, I was able to relate to the women in the story.
At the same time it gave me hope, the women in Sophie’s town faced obstacles far worse than Rus and I do and, for the most part, got a happy ending. They never gave up hope or stopped believing in their love just because they couldn’t talk to them daily. Yes I know it is fiction, but it isn’t sci-fi, it’s based on true events so I chose to take hope from the book.
It also helped me put my woes into perspective, Rus is 6000 miles away but he is alive and healthy which is more than can be said for Liv’s husband. I was, of course, well aware prior to reading this that people lose loved ones everyday but this was a nice way to bring home to me how lucky I am really.

Every now and again a book comes into your life that tells you something you already new but needed reminding of, a little like a song on the radio. That’s what this book did for me. It did it with wit, beauty and intrigue. I thoroughly believe I would have adored this book regardless of whenever I read it. The fact I read it during a bit of a personal blip is merely the icing on the cake.

Also…
There is a prequel to this called A Honeymoon in Paris. I read this before The Girl You Left Behind, doing so definitely added an extra dimension to the story. You learn how the couples fell in love and, especially for Liv and David, that is a nice touch which is lacking from TGYLB.
However, there a few wholes in the two stories. For starters if you read them both back to back as I did you’ll notice a few problems with the time frame, but that’s no big deal, any Sex and the City fan is used to over looking that. But in Honeymoon in Paris, they are honeymooning in Paris, in TGYLB they honeymooned in Spain. Which ruined it slightly. I found myself scratching my head and having to do a google-check half way through a page thinking “I’m sure that’s not what it said in the other book…”  It is infuriating that no one pointed this out during the editing, I mean the books came out within weeks of each other. But no harm done. I was still in tears by the end of TGYLB.

Number 53

Is Christmas stressful?

Normally not.

On the run up I casually buy gifts when I’m out and about anyway, I make dates with friends for mini xmas parties to trade gifts, I watch films with my sister and brother in law on their big squishy sofa, I eat all the limited edition christmas special things and I visit my grandparents. Every time I’m in my car I play christmas songs, I sing them at every opportunity and I wear snow flake earrings, I write my cards in a sparkle gel pen, I contemplate buying my chihuahua an elf costume and I get drunk with my mum.

On the day I wake up, swap presents, has a selection box for breakfast and then a bacon sandwich, I snack all day on sweet then savoury then sweet to keep the blood sugar balance just right [i know that isn’t how body science works but it does on xmas day], I walk a dog or six, then I eat a big xmas dinner, wash a few pots, nap, wake up for the soap specials, Downton special and whatever else has been ringed in the Radio Times. Maybe I’ll watch Sound of Music or Mary Poppins. All with my family of course, I don’t spend the day alone gorging!

This year I am spending it in California, where it’s warm. With a family who eat sandwiches on christmas day, although I love them dearly I still cannot get my head around doing such an unholy thing.  And my family are going to be 6000 miles away eating beef and pulling crackers and enjoying grandma’s chocolate cake and being cold and maybe getting snow.

I bet you a candy cane I cry at least once!

Because I’m British, that’s why!

Today started on a bittersweet note, mainly bitter for me, and has kind of spiralled down from there.

Rus is a self employed electrician, he makes good money but it can be a bit hit and miss, I guess right now is a bit of a miss, and he got a call from another company – one he used to work for, who need extra help on a job for the next month. A month of solid hours is fantastic, especially so close to our wedding, which is sweet!

However, Rus normally starts work around 8am which means he can easily stay up until around 1130pm the night before, this times perfectly with me waking up at 6:30am in England for an hour-long skype date everyday. Only now Rus has to wake up at 5am and will need to be in bed long before I wake up, standing on my feel all day means I can’t really wake up any earlier than I already do and still function throughout the day. Soo, our normal skype dates are shot and we’re kind of struggling to see how we’re going to fit in chatting. Which is bitter!

Sulking, I dragged myself into work. Yesterday was quiet, I was working with Sarah – my work BFF, we giggled about her new boyfriend, made plans for when she visits me in CA, drank tea all day and nibbled on cupcakes. I was hoping today would be the same.
But of course not.
We were busy from the second we opened ’til the second we shut the doors. My manager is not a trained nor experienced kitchen/cafe manager, she is a friend of the owner and needed a job. As soon as we get three orders in she starts flapping around like big bird on crack, forgetting things, making impossible demands, and speaking like a four year old. No joke. She has a baby voice. It’s awkward.

Aching, I dragged myself home. Normally Rus and I squeeze in an extra skype date on a weekend as I am coming home as he is waking up. Only today he woke up and found himself roped into helping set up for a fall festival at his mom’s church.

I’ve decided to treat myself. I only have about six weeks of being British left and I am going to fully indulge that tonight. I have two packets of bourbon biscuits, a huge mug of tea, Pride and Prejudice playing and then, in about an hour, Downton starts.
I love anything old fashioned British, all the more if there is also a love story involved [and a sugary snack]. I love the costumes, the decadence, the propriety, the honour and faith, the quick wit, the stiff upper lip and finding subtle sentiment and affection.

The second the opening credits of Downton begin all the bad parts of my day will melt away and everything will be brilliant again, I’ll dip my biscuits in my tea and feel all warm and snug as it gets dark outside now that autumn is on it’s way. I’ve been looking forward to this all day, and realising that these are things I’m not going to get in California.

But then again, I don’t think bad days are allowed to exist in Hollywood anyway so I probably won’t need pick me ups.

Medical

Yesterday I wrapped up warm, grabbed my umbrella, and headed to London for a medical examination as part of the blessed visa procedure.

The medical itself costs £235 so when I was looking into transport to London  – I live about 300miles away which shatters all Americans illusions that we’re all BFFs with the Queen – I couldn’t justify an extra £100 for train tickets. Instead I opted for the £10 bus return. I’ve done it before and it’s always the same. I tell myself it’s worth it because of the money I’ll save, I promise I’ll dress in comfortable clothes and take a travel pillow for a comfortable nap, I vow to charge my iPod and pack snacks, I swear to take a travel sickness pill so I can read if I want.

Only there are no clothes comfortable enough, no travel pillow squidgy enough, no lunchbox snack tasty enough, to make it a nice pleasant ride and I always wonder about heading to Kings Cross and buying a single to my home town as I trudge back to the bus station after a long day of bustling on the tube, wrestling down the high streets and having no one smile!

Seriously, Londoners being miserable is a stereotype for a very good reason!

Anyway. I got to the medical office with time to spare.

My nerves were kicking in, I have no idea why. I don’t have tuberculosis or any of the other illnesses they are checking for, I haven’t been in contact with anyone who may have them and I’m not addicted to smack. But, sitting in the waiting room my heart was pounding, my sweaty hands were shaking and I couldn’t decide if I was too hot or too cold. My mind was racing, maybe I have got TB – that old lady at work was coughing the other day after all. And maybe I’m secretly being slipped a daily dose of crack and am in fact a crazed addict; hell knows I was acting like one!

I was eventually called through and much to my relief my legs still worked.

A friendly lady talked me through my vaccination records, all were in order.

I was then sent to a second friendly lady for an x-ray. It was all terribly British as she asked me to take my clothes off. I nervously made  a joke while she politely looked away suffering from that affliction all British medics face of having to override their inherent prudishness to do the job they have been called to do.

After to x-ray it got a little weird as I was left in an open fronted robe and returned to a female only waiting room full of other women in the same robes all pretending no one is seconds away from a nip-slip as we make small talk about the weather that we aren’t going to miss when we get to our new destinations.

I seemed to be in the waiting room for the longest which nearly confirmed my fears that I am actually riddled with syphilis despite showing no signs of it and not having been in a position to catch it.

Eventually the last friendly lady called me through for my medical assessment. She asked me about my medical past, checked my eyes, ears and mouth. She then laid me on a bed to check my heart with a stethoscope and knee reflexes with a mini-hammer, she checked that I am female, took some blood, weighed and measured me then finally I was told I could re-dress.

It was nice to be warm again.

Then I paid £235 and was sent on my way.

The experience was a lot nicer than I expected. The staff were all friendly and professional. It was great to have a chance to talk to other people going through a visa application, most of them seemed to be going down the same route as me with a K1 fiance visa. We all had the same silly worries and neurosis – it was reassuring to know that how I’m feeling at this stage is kind of the norm.

If I haven’t heard anything by Friday then all my blood tests came back clear and I’ll be sent a visa interview date!

One step closer.

 

 

Anxious the Elephant.

My name is Laura, I’m 25 and I am an irrational worrier.

From my GHD’s burning down the house to getting mugged at traffic lights when I am going through something stressful I worry about everything else.

And I would say moving 6000 miles and starting my life all over again is a stressful event in anyone’s book.

I am excited to go. Of course I am. But I’m also dreading leaving everything behind. I’m going to miss things and I’m going to feel torn between the two places. For the rest of my life. And that’s a little bit of a grey cloud in the otherwise blue sky.
I’m worrying about making new friends, about learning to drive on the wrong side of the road, about missing English humour and food, about no one getting my jokes, about being so far away from my mum, about having to live with a stinky boy!*

I have a medical to go for in about a week and I’m concerned they’re going to discover I have cancer or that I carry a rare, but highly contagious, disease and my visa will be void. That all depends on me getting to the medical, what if my bus gets stuck in traffic, or I get lost, or the tube explodes. Oddly, I’m not concerned about battling the cancer or dealing with the disease or first aid in an exploded tube because of course I know this isn’t going to happen. My head is just full of what ifs and has no time to focus on a solution.

So I’m spending my evenings doing sudoko and ignoring the stress knot that is tying itself nice and tightly in my shoulders. I’m snapping at everyone and crying at adverts. And I’m pretending it’s all perfectly okay. It’s a personality trait I absolutely hate in myself. Nothing and no one can shake me out of it but myself and often I lack the momentum to do anything but lay down and wait for it to pass, wishing I was the sort of person who channels their anxious energy into doing something more productive than eating four Double Deckers and crying to Ghost.

I feel sorry for my family and Rus having to put up with me in this stinky lousy mood. I just need to sleep for the next two months and wake up in bed with Rus, happily married, and everything will be brilliant.

 

 

*That’s a lie, Rus showers twice a day.

Visas visas visas

I remember getting ready for a family holiday to Egypt when I was about 11 and my mum talking about how we all had to get a visa. I was so excited, I imagined myself handing it over the the waiter with flair, declaring “put in on my card” or asking a girl at a check out “do you take plastic?” [yes by the age of 11 I had watched enough american tele to be well versed in credit card lingo].

My mum laughed and told me “no, this is paper work to allow us into the country. It’s not as much fun.”

Oh if only she knew the warning she was giving me.

Since I got the notice from the consulate 10 days ago I have been housesitting for a family friend in a very quiet house with visa forms for company and a constant dull ache between my eyes. Everything is filled in, my medical is scheduled, my vaccination records collected and the police check sent off for. I would like to thank google for helping guide me to a few visa forums where I was able to get all my questions answered.

Today two things turned up in the post; the paper work I need from Rus and the police check confirming that I am an upstanding member of society and that, despite encountering morons everyday, I have restrained from any form of retaliation.

So I sat down with a large mug of white tea and organised my papers. It was like a military operation. I had Post It notes, different coloured pens, a list and a pencil to check things off with.

I got everything ready. Tomorrow I make photocopies of everything with a yellow Post It note on it, post everything with a green Post It note on to the consulate office and save all the pink Post It noted things for my medical.

The head ache will only be gone when everything is in the hands of the postman.

Anyone else out there going through this let me know, I’d love to hear other stories of struggles and triumph!