Positive Tension

A few weeks before I left, one warm evening in early September, a wise woman told me some things that I didn’t necessarily want to hear.

They all came true.

She told me it wouldn’t be the end of the world, and she was right about that too.  Apparently, she saw snow and something bad happening to me in an area I loved and was very comfortable with.  That must have been the wallet-pilfering incident.

I was also told that the winter would be a time of great mental stress for me.  Supposedly, I’d finally be forced to answer questions about what I really wanted and what would make me happy- and not what I thought the rest of the world would deem accpetable for a person like me. I would need to stop worrying about the general approval of others and start thinking about the kind of life I would want, once the dust particles of confusion and dismay finally settled inside my weary head.

And she surmised that I wouldn’t like the results of such questioning.   Or rather, they would cause a few complications and exacerbate an already difficult situation.

I guess if I didn’t want to face these questions, I should never have gone home for Christmas.  Despite my best efforts to force the contrary, I’m just one person.  I can’t be five or six, and I can’t live three lives.  I have to pick one.  And I know I never want to have to fly home for the holidays again.  I’m happiest around my family and on the east coast of the United States.

Losing all forms of identification will really force you start thinking about who and what you are.  I am happy in London, but I just think I’d be happier if I were home with my parents.  I’ve officially changed my mind about wanting to live abroad forever, I guess. 

Yes, I realize my parents are in Vegas. But I can’t fix my finances until I go home thanks to my card companies’ international policies.   And I actually really liked what I saw of the city, even if I don’t exactly blend on the west coast.  I consulted my planners and realized that after term ends, I’d basically be staying here to write a paper.  For someone as comfortable with independent research and syntax as I am, that just seemed silly.

Then my dad skyped me and told me he wanted me to come back for Easter. So last Sunday I managed to book the last flight available for that week from Gatwick to Vegas- I’m leaving April 9th, for good.

Don’t fall off your chair, I have a coherent plan this time.  I’ve discussed this with my tutors and program director and they told me it’s quite a common procedure for postgrads to write their dissertations at home.  I’m going to transfer the money in my Barclays account while I’m at the airport gate.

I’ve shifted my status at my internship to external writer. I’ll still maintain a professional relationship with EMMA and write articles for the website, but our communication will all be virtual. This will do wonders to cut down on my tube expenses and enable me to enjoy my last six weeks here.  And I can smoothly transition into contributing to the company from Las Vegas.

Really, how many 21-year-olds get to spend the last few months of their first adult year in Sin City for free?  I’m going to write my dissertation, hopefully get another internship, and be tan by May!  I’ve already had a few eager visit proposals from friends.  My car is sitting out there, washed, waxed, and ready for my arrival, and I can’t wait to get behind the wheel again and finally master highways.

The endgame is to find a good job, an apartment, and permanently relocate to the NY/NJ area by Halloween.  Thanksgiving is cutting it too close. Sometimes you have to leave behind everything you have so you can come back and truly appreicate it.  This time, I can graduate and look for a job with no possibility of regrets.

Before I leave, I’ve planned a trip to Scotland with my friend Gemma.  I’ve wanted to go there for two years, and I know I’d kick myself if I left for the second time and didn’t go.  We’re also going to take a day trip to Brighton right before I leave.

I have so many visitors that will be passing through in the coming weeks I fear this may be the last chance I have to write in this blog.  Flat 3 has been so collectively swamped that we’ve barely seen each other for weeks on end. The lovely Kat did her best to rekindle flat unity and cooked us a savory french toast brunch this morning.  Five of us managed to make it to Strada on Friday night for dinner, and that was a feat in and of itself.  I will miss that pizza so much, as well as the torroncino affogato dessert.

In other news, tonight is the Oscar telecast. Here’s hoping I find someone as clever and determined as Drew to download a live feed.  My boss expects a full recap by noon tomorrow (even though it doesn’t start until 1 am our time!), so at least I have a good reason to freak out if we can’t watch it.

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