7/4 (shoreline)

Here, dotty-dotty-dotty, heeeeere dotty-dotty!

**WARNING: Author’s brain is too scattered for constructed sentences at the moment. Brain’s Editor deeply apologises for this inconvenience. Have a nice day.**

• So here’s the 411, yo: starting August 28, I will be living and working for 6 to 24 months/indefinitely (or Until-I-Freak-The-Fuck-Out-Really) in and around London, England or as I like to call it, The Second Most Expensive City IN THE WORLD. Ex-cel-lent.
  
  
• It’s all about the accent, honestly.
  
  
• And the curry.
  
  
• So far, three options present themselves before me: Option A is still impending what they refer to as the "third phase: face-to-face interview" (and as I am still physically an entire ocean away, this is rather complicated, you understand, and requires from me nothing but utmost patience. Something that I OBVIOUSLY have in boundless amount! [insert maniacal laugh]); Option B lies in the hands of a friend of E, who owns a catering business for which years of [*cough*questionable*cough*] waiting & customer service skills will come in mighty handy for preventing yours truly from slaughtering lovely Londoneers and causing a most unfortunate diplomatic rift between Canadia & her Surrogate Mumsy *toes crossed*; and finally Option C (or commonly knwon as My Best Bet) would see me gathering numerous carton boxes and seeking out for the driest and well-lit corner in town. Any help will be deeply appreciated here.
  


• No matter which option will befall upon my frighteningly delusional little self, opportunities to, in no particular order, travel cheaply, submerge in Art, culture (which may or may not include sampling some good’ol English beer out of rubbish bins) and other conducts of subversive depravity international kinship will highly be welcomed.
  


• Should Option B prevail (somehow outbidding Option C’s glamorous notes), I’ve also been keenly looking into several places where I can crash me bum. The problem here is, since my employment is far from anything as being settled (even though I am due to depart in FIVE DAYS), it’s a little senseless to select a specific area now, innit? I mean, it isn’t exactly cheap to travel through six goddamn bloody zones in The Second Most Expensive City IN THE WORLD, izzit? And what of the appeal and safety of a neighborhood fit for a paranoid young lass? How can one choose between the attractive eclecticism of the West End versus the once-'dodgy'-now-'up-and-coming'/cheap-housing-market of the East End? And what makes me think I can ever live with complete strangers? Will they like me? Will I kill them? Is it bad etiquette to lift up the mattress looking for bedbugs?
  


• I have been swaying between complete & utter excitement and complete & utter despair. Between being unbearably joyful and terrified out of my fucking tits. In the space of an hour. I am bloody EXHAUSTED!
  


• OHMYGODIAMLEAVINGINFIVEFACKINGDAYS!!!![ad infinitum]
  


• I started to pack last night. Chaos ensued. Tearful trailer included [but not excluded to (I’ll spare you the really ugly bits)]: “GAH! Where did all these things come from?!”, “How am I supposed to fit MY LIVELIHOOD in a 28” by 18” bag!?”, “How am I supposed to CARRY and DRAG this bag anyway?!!”, “...Will my [color-coordinated!] wardrobe suffice?”, “I am SUCH a fucking princess!!”, and, of course, the always delightful “What IN HELL are you THINKING?! Are you COMPLETELY. MAD?!” It's Rated G for Goddiddlydamned Slappable.



• ...Maybe this is not the best time to be coming off Mr. Effexor after all….
  


• I need to see my shrink.
  


• I don’t have time to read blogs anymore. (And the fact that I am putting this into account means that I am officially a dork. Break out the champagne!)
  


• Speaking of blogs, it always surprises me that anyone would read these little neurotic meanderings of mine, let alone give a rat’s ass to comment. But to all the actual three of yous (yes, yes, you over there *waves*), it still makes me all warm and fuzzy in the weirdest of ways for every email, every word and advice and virtual pats-in-the-back, every colon and bracket and parenthesis (or rather :)], yeah? Am I 'in' yet?) during this most crazy of times. I am truly and humbly grateful. And despite being scared shitless, I am still going through with it because somewhere inside my brain jumping and screaming in a [miraculously] higher than my screeching pitch is a little girl who knows there won't be any regrets.* And isn’t that all what one can hope for?

So there.

And remember, any further questions, suggestions and well-wishes can always be replaced by loving monetary donations instead.

Bwahahahahahahaha! I kid, I kiiiid!! (But not really.)




* Is it me or does that sentence sound weird? Brain? Hullo?...