The root of all worry

It's a weird feeling, suddenly having all these actual grownup worries. I have never been the worrying sort, no matter what has been going on in my life. And trust me, there have been some truly concerning aspects to my life. Things any sane person would worry about, and for very good reason. But I've always been the type to just sort of shrug and wait to see what happens.

But now. I worry, I mull, I fret. There's the Visa application and getting everything done that needs doing before I leave this country, and things to get done in the next country before I get there. Which has all been sort of nibbling away quietly in the back of my head for several months now. But this past week I found the true meaning of worry. I know, I am a bit old for this stunning revelation, most folk go through it at about the age of eighteen or twenty when they are trying to make a go of their first apartment. And I have heard my siblings struggle over this issue many times over the years. But this problem has never touched me in any significant way.

Money. Or, more accurately, the lack thereof. I have never before experienced this twisting, clenching in my gut that comes with wondering how we will afford to feed ourselves every month, much less ever get our hair cut again. And clearly we are going to have to learn to walk on our hands because no way are we getting new shoes! How do people do this? How do they live their lives with that gnawing, churning, writhing in their guts?

So here's what I've decided. I won't do it. I am going back to being the one who shrugs and assumes it will all work out in the end. I am going to be happy with what we have and not worry about what we don't. I am going to beat worry into submission with my natural cheery optimism. I am going to face life with a smile and a carefully planned budget.

I am going to let my hair grow to the floor and obstinately forget that long hair makes me look like cousin it.

I am going to remember my guy and our overwhelming love and what this is all for...

Aw, see? I feel better already. :o)

a place to call home

This weekend my fiance signed the rental agreement on our new flat in England. It's an odd feeling, knowing I have a home to go to in a country that isn't even mine yet. But the flat is another large step in getting me there, as I have to show on the Visa application that I have suitable accommodation, among other things.

And there can be no arguing it is suitable for the two of us. It's all awkward angles and odd slopes and strange corners, nothing where you expect it to be. Which is somehow ridiculously appropriate. It is so oddly laid out, in fact, that the photos my guy sent me just confused me, so he built me a little model of it online so I could see the weird and wonderful shapes we are going to attempt to furnish. Don't even ask about the windows. They are beautiful, absolute features in our high-ceilinged flat, lovely architectural details that give us unimpeded panoramic views of brick walls and parking lots. These windows make the space. They are also triangle. Including the one nine feet up in the bedroom with other flats looking down into it. I foresee this being a problem. At least for shy folk like us.

A quick search of the internet, of course, was all that was needed to instantly find several solutions to this window fashion dilemma! Every one of them hideously impractical and prohibitively expensive. The great Google has finally let me down. Luckily, we are a resourceful pair and came up with our own fix. Short of drawing you people a diagram, though, I doubt I can accurately explain our genius in the fabric arts. Lets just say it involves a lot of puckering and gathering, wire, and dangly bits that will need to be artistically chopped off. You get the general sense from that, right?

So, one decorating obstacle hurdled from across the ocean and feeling quite proud of myself. Not that this Goldbergian contraption of window fashion has actually been built yet. It's more of a ...concept. But I am sure my guy will be able to actually execute it, no problem. And if he gets confused, I'll build him a little model of it online so he can see the weird and wonderful shapes he is going to attempt to construct. No problem.

Uh oh.

You feel that? That was a "famous last words" moment right there.

Sigh.

a shaky start

Okay, so here's the thing. I finally decided to write a blog , due in no small part to the fact that my fiance is constantly telling me I really need my own blog. He thinks I could entertain or interest others with my rants and musings. Either that or he thinks if I rant and muse at the internet at large I won't have to do it in his general direction anymore. One of those. Having made that decision, and being very happy about it and eager to start, I came to a sudden realization. I don't actually know how to do that. Write a blog. Or, more to the point, how to start writing a blog.

The real problem lies in the fact that in a first go round you kind of just have to introduce yourself to the people of the internet (or so I presume, so I'm going with that), and I have never been very good at it. I always said I would learn to describe myself by the time I am forty. Well, the clock is ticking loudly, and I am no closer to be being able to describe myself than I have ever been. Let's hope the next few years bring some sort of miracle of self-analysis and introspection that can lead me beyond the pure facts of being a thirty-whatever, blonde, blue-eyed Canadian. Because I fear that doesn't leave you with a very complete picture. For that matter, a picture could tell you as much and more. (Except maybe the Canadian part. Pretty sure that doesn't show in photos. At least, not unless I'm wearing my toque, while playing with my pet beaver outside our igloo, and eating poutine while waving at a passing mountie. But I blinked in that photo, so I can't post it up for the internet to see. You'll just have to take my word on the whole Canadian thing.)

I have had a...well, an unusual life. Whether that life is interesting to anyone but myself is debatable. And quite honestly, even I find it tedious a lot of the time. My fiance finds me and my life interesting, but he has to, by law. And let's face it, even he has now foisted me off on you people.

So, what will this blog be about? I have no earthly idea. Mostly random thoughts. A few rants. Maybe some pointers on how to immigrate to another country. Or desperate cries for help and information on the same subject. I expect more of the latter. Oh, and probably several long, thought-provoking essays on the nature of chronic pain and the art of keeping a smile on your face when you really want to cut off various body parts with a chainsaw, because after all that sounds less painful than what you are feeling at the moment...and maybe some meaningless chatter about clothes and music and tv and stuff. That should cover it.

Hmmm...I did mention my life was unusual, right? Well, so long as you're forewarned. Here's a synopsis for those of you who haven't been paying attention (and frankly, I don't blame you if you've let your mind wander off on its own by this point). I am a thirty-something-or-other Canadian gal living with chronic pain, engaged to a wonderful, loving British man and trying to gently pick my way through the red tape of moving halfway across the world without going insane. There, now don't you want to be my bestest internet friend? Yeah, I thought so.