One Down, One Across

I had a couple of bits of business this morning, so took advantage of being out to go to Exki in Place Lux.  Had a half-pint of coffee (what a luxury it is when you have none at home, nor the wherewithal to make it) and something moist and chocolaty.  Made a pig's bollock of the New York Times crossword.  It wasn't even a cryptic one; I'm just shit at crosswords. 

I realised, having transacted the final bit of business, that I was on the very same corner on which I stood almost eight years ago, on my first ever day in Brussels.  It was for an interview (for a job I'm pleased not to have got) and, as I'd made a day trip from London, I combined it with two internet dates.  First date picked me up on the corner of Place Lux, right by the bank.  Yes, I got in a car with a strange man and he gave me sweeties. 

Tonight I will dine out as everything is packed and anyway I can't mess up the oven.  Everything hurts - all the arthritis seems to be shouting just fucking stop.  But I can't yet.  Thankfully the list of things to do is mercifully short now.  Just as well - tomorrow morning at 8am, the men will be here, and then I'm on a train under the Channel.  See you on the other side.   

Post-Impressions on a Hot Day

I've hit the Van Gogh stage now.  I remember this from last time.  Basically all I have left is a bed and two chairs.  Oh and a computer.  I'm sure Vincent would have had a computer.  He'd be on Facebook all the time arguing with tossers, and posting cat videos. 

It is one week today, my departure, and the terror does not subside. The only thing is, in this heat (today was around 40 °C and tomorrow likely higher) it is hard enough getting through the day, so the terror becomes a sort of subsidiary theme.  It feels like something you've forgotten to do.  Of course, I may well have forgotten to do something.  At least the extreme heat gives me an excuse to stay in tomorrow and go slowly through my undone tasks.  I will be mainly naked and sitting next to a fan.  

This week, my friend S was so amazing I cried.  I asked if she would help me take stuff to the dump, and move boxes down to the garage.  The dump was great fun, hurling stuff into a massive skip.  But the boxes:  it seemed I just could not go down the stairs with them.  Just after I moved here I fell going down the stairs, carrying a box.  Missed my footing and went down very hard on both knees and one elbow.  Fortunately nothing was broken.  But now, standing there with a box, I froze.  So S said I should just get them to the top of the stairs and she would do it.  All 25 boxes, carried down and stacked in the garage.  She was like a superwoman!  So grateful to her.

You Want That To Go?

What does a sensible person (who has packed her cafetière and has no coffee) do on a hot day?  Why, she goes to a dim, air-conditioned Starbucks, and orders the smallest fuck-off huge mug of Americano they have, along with a big cookie.

I cannot tell you how comforting this was.  OK, so I was in the bowels of Schuman metro.  Let's ignore that.  I have exactly two weeks to get everything done and - while I do not doubt I will manage it - the sensation of absolute terror about a millimetre below my surface remains.  It shrieks.  Dogs prick up their ears.  I am terrified about this move.  Globalisation has come to my rescue.  A Starbucks coffee is the same everywhere and so I sat on a very low armchair with a dubious arse stain while Dolly Parton keened about something in the background, and I necked a half a pint of coffee.

A woman who knew the serving staff laughed too much, for way too long.

I have about 35 boxes packed and two items of furniture remain to be disposed of.  Today I was whipping cobwebs off the ceiling with a towel. I fear some sort of hysteria might have taken hold.

  

Order, Order

My phone, which is on the way to being wholly fucked, keeps chirruping like a hungry bird.  The battery disconnects while charging, approximately every ten seconds, hence the hungry chirrup.  I hope it will hold out until the UK as there simply isn't time to get a new phone.

I have, I think, packed 25 boxes.  You would not think it to look around the place, but it is some comfort to know I've probably got only another ten to do.  The calendar is against me as there is a sinus operation (minor) booked for 17 July and after that I'll be unable to lift things for a while.  And then to Paris to see my new grandson.  To say that his birth has brought light into my heart is an understatement.  The longing to hold him and be part of his life is stronger than ever I could have thought. 

My daughter had a horribly long, horribly painful labour and I am so proud of her, and relieved that all is well.   Childbirth is an everyday thing but when it is your own flesh going through it, it doesn't seem like that. 

The only other news is that I did not get the job I went for.  This knocked me on my arse a bit.  Well, really quite a lot.  I will get something, but to be turned down by the place I really wanted to work is very sobering.

Packing beckons.  It doesn't really, but putting things mindlessly in boxes is surprisingly calming.  Order from disorder.  Order from ordure.

Going Back

To York, for a job interview.  Three of the four trains I took, I was facing backwards.  This is what comes of booking train tickets in a state of high excitement, and at the last minute.  I plunged into a Kate Atkinson and tried to ignore the fact that I appeared to be reversing into my own future.

If someone asked me to design the city I want to live in, and the job I want, at the place I want, I would come up with this job, at this place, in York.  So, half an hour early for my interview, I sat in the beautiful campus gardens, my arms buzzing with adrenaline.  Normal language seems to desert me during interviews, therefore I'm sure I talked a lot of shit.  I have absolutely no idea whether it was a good interview.  All three on the panel kept nodding, but that might have meant, "Yep, yep, call security."

I met the Vice-Chancellor and the thing she was most interested in was that I had worked for Sir Howard Davies.  And then we talked about student satisfaction.  Oh shut up.

I have heard nothing yet, which makes me sad.  And yes, that is stupidly impatient, seeing as it's been only a day.  If I have not got the job, that's ok.  This is just the beginning.