My apologies for not posting more this week. I’ve had a few pieces of writing in the works, but everything got a bit turned around at the end of last week and took my attention away. And by ‘took my attention away’ I mean I haven’t felt like doing much.
Plans have changed and I think I’m moving.  Again.

England is just not a country for foreigners at the moment. Sure, I spent £500 getting my post-study visa so I could get a proper job and legally work over here, but this economic climate is brutal enough to actual UK and EU citizens. Screw people from further away, right? Never mind that I paid over £10,000 in tuition alone to get my MA over here. My impression, as a foreigner in this country for over a year and half now, is that the higher ups care nothing about foreigners, except for their money.  There’s something about the naive arrogance the English have in Mark Twain’s A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court that still rings somewhat true.  But what makes even more sense to me is the Man from Connecticut’s constant bafflement at how the Medieval English approach life and business.

But having just written an angry bash at the English, I should add this: I will be very sad to move away from the NHS.  Sure there are problems, but I love going into the doctors office for testing and not have to pay a penny, versus the $100 just to see a nurse when you don’t have insurance in the states, followed by the $1,200+ bill you get from Quest Diagnostics when they tell you that the tests came back negative.

So it’s back to The States for me, unless Boyfriend gets funding for his PhD and we decide to drastically change all our plans.
In the end, though, I think I’m happier over there. I think any (basically) well-adjusted person who had a fairly happy childhood would be lying if they said they didn’t find some comfort living in the country they grew up. I’m not saying I want to live down the street from my parents, but I like knowing that members of my family are closer than the other side of the Atlantic. And it’s good to have a safety net under you.  Moving over to England and trying to make a life here has been one of the scariest things I have ever done. I was terrified it wouldn’t work and I’d fail and I’d have to go home with my proverbial tail between my legs.  And that’s exactly what happened.  When I first realized last week that this wasn’t going to work over here I couldn’t help but cry.  I was angry and I felt like Fate was forcing me into a situation I didn’t want.  I kept saying that I wanted to do things ‘on my terms’.  And maybe it’s true—maybe this is a bit of fate that no matter how many applications I sent out I didn’t get a single interview.  Maybe it was fate that told my friend that she needed to find a place on her own rather than find an apartment with me.  Because once she made that decision, she freed me from the only obligation I had that was keeping me in England.

So now I’m heading back, head held not as high as I would like it, but with no tail between me legs.  I’m cutting my losses and taking charge of my future.  I’ve always wanted to get a flat in Brooklyn and now I can.