Sunday night found one of my best friends alternating between crying uncontrollably and raging against the injustices of a legal system that won’t allow a contributing yet *’aged’* foreigner to easily stay within it’s borders. My many attempts to console her failed miserably.
So, in the face of adversity, desperate and with no other options left, I danced like a monkey.
She cried harder.
*In regards to immigration rules, ‘aged’ refers to any member of a foreign country that is unfortunate enough to be over 30. What has always confused me about this is the ‘highly skilled migrant’ visa category, as one would expect that age would be a benefit for this scheme. But no! Once you turn thirty you are considered less skill worthy than a 19 yr old applying for the same visa…
And I thought that 30 was the new 20.
Chasing down some old emails from early 2009 I came across an unidentified item with a video attached. Upon opening the video I was surprised to find a video of my ex. Naked. Naked and playing…
I’d completely forgotten about the video in the last two years and found the discovery quite funny. In fact I found it so funny that I decided to email my ex about my discovery and the hilariousness of it. The reply when it came was short and seemingly nonplussed. On further investigation I discovered that my original email would have more appropriately been titled HAPPY BIRTHDAY!
My snowboarding trip is finally coming together while at the same time one of my good friends may never snowboard again. He has just busted his lower back, spent some time in hospital and has been informed that he will never recover fully. Two weeks ago he was a normal, fit young guy and now he can’t even look after himself and has been confined to bed. All from lifting a chair at work.
I’m trying to fit in as many drinks with friends and nights out as possible before I leave the UK. Last night I went out for a dinner at a fancy restaurant with some good friends and family. One good friend was unable to come as his partner’s father had passed away suddenly and he had to fly to Amsterdam to attend the funeral, as well as the fact that, well, he just didn’t really feel like coming out and partying with me. His method of communication was a succinct sms.
The world is bigger than me. Sometimes I forget that. The moments we get to share with each other are so important and often so fleeting. The slow march of Time loves to lull you into a false sense of security and complacency before flipping everything on its head and fucking you sideways in an instant. Luckily I’ve got a naked video of Time too. Blackmail here we come!
Last night started well enough. Quality cocktails, rambling conversations and good friends supporting a good DJ. Who incidentally had sprained his wrist a few days earlier. Occupational hazard.
The surprise was the sheer concentration of friends acquired over the last two years who happened to make an appearance. It was the who’s who of ‘where the fuck have you been the last year!’. At several points it felt more like our own private party rather than the public event that it was. Which is when it all started to come apart.
I’m a bit over chatting about how I’m leaving in a few weeks. Unfortunately it’s still a hot conversation topic among the masses. Thus I started to disengage. I turned inwards, pulled back and became an observer – standing still as the world throbbed and swam around me. I know the ending to this chapter and I don’t feel the need to read the last fifty pages. It gets repetitive. Death by a thousand goodbyes.
Unconsciously I’ve already put up my defences and reigned in my emotional attachments to everyone as a protective measure. Limit the fallout. I did this in my last relationship. Moving to the other side of the world isn’t conducive to a successful future together. Pre-emptive strike. The problem is it ends up hurting everyone else involved as much as it does you.
Last night I realised that I’ve already left. I’ve already said goodbye.
I’m not sure where the days are going. Especially when I have days like today during which I achieved almost nothing. They still manage to fly by.
I realised a few weeks ago just how stressed I was with the whole leaving London gig. I had my first freelance job in a month, it was with a company I’d worked with quite a bit already. I was covering sick leave and because of that I got thrown into the deep end on a half finished project. It was a relatively simple project, but I still had to get my head around the brief and figure out the other guys setup and how best for me to achieve what they needed in the time. Normally I tackle this kind of problem fine, but instead I found myself short of breath with a constricted chest. I felt boxed in and was having trouble controlling my emotions. It took me quite a while to actually get myself under control, at one stage I was contemplating leaving the job. A simple job.
I’ve never been one to have panic attacks, but I reckon I may have started.
The following day was Australia Day. I went to pieces trying to make my mind up about meeting some mates at a pub or going around to another mates house for some drinks. I couldn’t make a decision. I was completely paralysed to the point of tears. All over the simple decision of where to get drunk.
It took me a while to realise that my resistance to making decisions regarding my imminent departure and all my conflicting emotions surrounding that, as well as the uncertainty and fear I’ve attached to heading back to Australia is affecting every facet of my life. Breakfast selection has become a choir, heading to the gym is now a physical struggle, meeting friends anywhere that requires effort and time is out, conversation is tedious. Every thought is over thought. It’s quite tiring.
On a brighter note I’ve purchased the first flight on my long trip home!! Beirut here I come!
That decision in and of itself was monumental, I literally sat for days in front of my bloody computer just willing myself to press the confirm button. I am astounded by the ways one can distract ones self when one is avoiding doing what they should.