One month and change
I have now lived in Leeds for one month. Sometimes it feels like it's only been a week, other times it feels like it's been years. Time's a funny thing.
I'm settled in at work. I almost know how to get anywhere in my building! I know almost everyone's name! I've been fairly social at work as well, which is quite a gear shift from the way I was in grad school. I'm less inclined now to throw up the work-personal life dividing wall. In fact, tomorrow I am responsible for making a cake for Cake Club. Cake Club occurs every Thursday morning. Guess what we do? We eat cake. And drink tea.
It looks like a quiche, but really, it's a pear and custard pie. Pie, cake, whatever.
I'm moving into my bright and shiny new apartment on Saturday. I'm wicked excited, if you haven't noticed. Pictures will be forthcoming, I promise.
This move into my permanent apartment is a big deal to me. It's my final step to saying Leeds is my new home. No going back now, I swear! Because a job, a work permit, a visa, a plane ticket, and packing everything I own into a storage unit didn't drive that point home.
Funny story: apparently, when the Visa Nonsense (tm) occurred, some of the other scientists tried to convince my boss that I was making it up, and had actually had second thoughts. Boss got nervous that this was true. Oh, if he only knew how truly upset I was.
I've started encountering what I've termed "The Look" from people here. I got "The Look" from many people when I was in the States. These were usually people at the bank and whatnot that I had to tell I was moving. "The Look" starts off as surprise, moves to terror, then fades to pity. Surprise as in a hey-that's-awesome, terror as in I-could-never!, pity as in oh-poor-girl-won't-have-anyone.
Now, as we've moved into December, I'm getting "The Look" when I say no, I'm not going back to the States for Christmas, no I have no friends or family here, no I don't know what I'm doing for the holiday, thanks for asking. The pity part of "The Look" increases during this exchange. I wish I could tell people that I don't need their pity, but that's considered rude, or something.
I don't want to end this post on a downer. So, instead, I shall end with a creepy picture of a church spire:
"What is this, the Gospel according to St. Bastard?" -Eddie Izzard
I'm settled in at work. I almost know how to get anywhere in my building! I know almost everyone's name! I've been fairly social at work as well, which is quite a gear shift from the way I was in grad school. I'm less inclined now to throw up the work-personal life dividing wall. In fact, tomorrow I am responsible for making a cake for Cake Club. Cake Club occurs every Thursday morning. Guess what we do? We eat cake. And drink tea.
It looks like a quiche, but really, it's a pear and custard pie. Pie, cake, whatever.
I'm moving into my bright and shiny new apartment on Saturday. I'm wicked excited, if you haven't noticed. Pictures will be forthcoming, I promise.
This move into my permanent apartment is a big deal to me. It's my final step to saying Leeds is my new home. No going back now, I swear! Because a job, a work permit, a visa, a plane ticket, and packing everything I own into a storage unit didn't drive that point home.
Funny story: apparently, when the Visa Nonsense (tm) occurred, some of the other scientists tried to convince my boss that I was making it up, and had actually had second thoughts. Boss got nervous that this was true. Oh, if he only knew how truly upset I was.
I've started encountering what I've termed "The Look" from people here. I got "The Look" from many people when I was in the States. These were usually people at the bank and whatnot that I had to tell I was moving. "The Look" starts off as surprise, moves to terror, then fades to pity. Surprise as in a hey-that's-awesome, terror as in I-could-never!, pity as in oh-poor-girl-won't-have-anyone.
Now, as we've moved into December, I'm getting "The Look" when I say no, I'm not going back to the States for Christmas, no I have no friends or family here, no I don't know what I'm doing for the holiday, thanks for asking. The pity part of "The Look" increases during this exchange. I wish I could tell people that I don't need their pity, but that's considered rude, or something.
I don't want to end this post on a downer. So, instead, I shall end with a creepy picture of a church spire:
"What is this, the Gospel according to St. Bastard?" -Eddie Izzard
Comments
If you want someone to confirm to your boss how apeshit you were over the visa thing, I'd be glad to give him a call.
We'll miss you over the holidays, but come on - you're in England! Land of Dickens. There will be wassailing and figgy pudding. (If this is not true, I'd rather not know as the disappointment may kill me).
I'd never pity you because I know you're amazing and a total rock star! (Though I probably would've given you the first two parts of The Look because it IS awesome and no, I probably could never.)
And to catch up on your last few posts: you will be stopping at the Lap Dancing Super Club, right? Because you're a mature cheese. And then you can go home and eat prawn cocktail chips :) LOL!
Hope all is well, and I'm glad you're getting comfortable. I too know the wonders of a routine. I'm currently without one as I've been let go from my job yet again. But there are upwards of a dozen funeral homes in Nueva Britain, so hopefully, I can get a job with one of them rather quickly. I kind of miss the dead and their non-back-talking ways. Heh.
Love you much!
he wants some pie
img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2358/2185633395_c5b0b364d2.jpg
M to the EL
Liz