I couldn’t think of a good title for this post. I’m settling with an image which best describes the general tone, instead:
I have been *well* naff about writing blog posts, haven’t for ages – I merely haven’t had the capacity in the last month or so. I have a couple of serious ones in the pipeline, one of which is based on a paper I have under review at the moment – that’ll have to wait until such time as it is accepted, I’m afraid. If you’re particularly disappointed about that, I can, however, offer you *this*. A most excellent band from Italy. I saw them twice in a row a couple of weeks ago – they played the gig we hi-jacked to celebrate of wedding.
Yup, got married a couple of weeks ago. It was everything a wedding should be: you can see my bra in almost every photograph, my nephew threw up, I had steak for lunch and we made everyone pay for themselves. It was a very laid back, relaxed affair, which I am grateful for. Despite the low-key nature of the whole do, I was pretty wound up about it all. I have no idea how people manage to plan massive big churchy things – kudos. Small quantities of family were present at the registry office, including some I’ve never met, which was lovely. The registry office was close enough to where I work so that my PIs could show up and chuck confetti at me. In the evening, we went to a gig which had been organised before we even decided to get hitched. Because we’d only told very close friends we were getting married, in the morning we Facebook’d what was going on and suggested celebrations could take place at the show (so jammy). Mr. Siv’s band played, a comedy Black Sabbath covers band played, Fuzz Orchestra played. It was the best night.
I was allowed to hold up the cue cards for ‘War Pigs’. So proud.
Aside from that, and applying for grants and courses and submitting papers and getting our new MRes student up to speed, I’ve trying to sort of this imminent move to the US. Everything seems to be going very smoothly – my potential for actually getting over there in January and being able to function is going up, while my bank balance continues to go dramatically south. But that’s the name of the game, isn’t it – and the support I’ve been getting from my new place of work has been incredible. I’m very excited about going over there.
So at the moment I’m in a peculiar turmoil of being very, very excited, panicky and bit sweaty, and feeling pretty guilty. The move I’m about to make will have an impact of lots of people I love, which I’m trying to address on a practical, non-hysterical level. My husband, of course, is going to have to move out of the home we love. He can’t work in the US – his visa will only allow him to accompany me, and sit there looking pretty. He can’t even open a bank account over there. Mr. Siv is a grafter, he wants to work, and the only way he can is to stay in the UK. We’ve come to terms with that bit, it’s a temporary thing. Part of the reason we decided to get hitched was a nod to this – it will be hard, but we’ll be ok. We’re still permanent.
Reading this by Mark Martin made me think again about leaving my Mum and Dad. Mum and Dad are not really travelly people, and while their initial stance of “oooooh…….well I don’t think we’d be able to come and visit you in the US” has recently changed to “oh, so we can cruise there? Well that’s a different matter”, I know that mostly for the next few years I will seeing them via Skype. It will be tough not hanging out with them regularly (getting nails done with Mum, getting fed chicken stew by Dad and talking about George Martin), but I’m trying to deal with that by telling myself “it’s just a 6 hour plane trip..” which I suppose it is. I think it will feel like more than just a plane trip for the first six months I’m out there, though. The really brutal part is not seeing my nephews and nieces all the time. Say I stay in the US for 5 years – every time I get home to visit the little guys they’ll be different people! That bit really stings.
On top of these more considerable worries are the day-to-day guilts I’m griping with. I feel guilty about spending all our money of going to the US, I feel guilty about having to move out of the house we rent because I like our landlord lots, I feel guilty about pressuring people to come visit, I feel guilty about not doing enough work at the moment, I feel guilty about working too much at the moment, I feeling guilty about leaving the people I work with, guilty about leaving students behind, I feel guilty about complaining. And why can’t you buy flippin’ duvet covers in the US?
I’m guessing all this is fairly standard. I suppose I’m writing this post to give an account of what it’s like moving to a new country – it’s bound to be different for everyone but I suspect I’ve covered the fundamentals.
Ahh. If only I could be more like Venkman.