or what it’s really like to move to another country. (hint: the NUT referenced above is me!)

Now that I’ve been here longer than my normal 2-3 week vacation “time”, the reality of living abroad is starting to sink in. I’ve had a few anxiety dreams about home. My emotional state is best described as schizophrenic. My internal landscape is a big bundle of hormonal MESS! lol.

Firstly, it is more difficult to connect with my friends back home than I thought it would be. We are all extremely wired individuals, with multiple tethers into the world of social networking, yet the time difference seems to create a barrier I had not anticipated. Perhaps because Himself and I so “easily” managed it, I “assumed” it would be equally easy to enjoy friend time long-distance. One solution to this may be more in-depth blogging on my personal journal. My close friends read that journal and this may open more of a dialogue. Even though it won’t be “real” time, it will still be “sharing” time. Also, I’m about to do something I’ve never attempted before. I am going to schedule skype time!! (this is me taking a page from one of my BFF’s Super Power Playlist) I’ll keep you posted on how these strategies work.

Secondly, I have never moved into someone else’s space. They have always moved into mine, or at least we moved into new, shared space. I am living in HIS house, with HIS furniture, and HIS routine. Anyone who knows me will immediately understand my Little Internal Control Freak wanting to run screaming down the street. But that’s not all. I don’t have permission to work yet, so not only am I existing in a space that isn’t really mine, I’m not even earning my own pocket money!! AAAGGGHHHHH. Yes, that is the sound of my LICF staring wide eyed with panic and dread at a situation she has not been in for a VERY long time! Solution: lots of breathing through my feet (and beer and poker for Himself, so he can please, pretty please ignore me) and PRAYING I get my stamp soon and that someone, somewhere will give me something to DO!!!

Lastly, I don’t have a drivers license that is recognized by the Irish government, so I don’t have FREEDOM of mobility. That’s right folks. Irish insurance companies clearly don’t believe the U.S. teaches its citizens how to drive, so they won’t insure me. Ok. In fairness, it probably has more to do with the whole driving-on-the-left thing than about me or a general judgment about Americans, but it’s still an inconvenience! So, I get to study a manual, answer some test questions and hopefully get a Learners Permit. (I have to chuckle thinking of myself with a big red L pasted up in the car….at my age!) After 6 months of practice I can sit for my actual test, which has a country wide failure rate of 50%. I’m not encouraged. Solution: drink more!! (this way I don’t care if I ever leave the house)

But today it’s gorgeous outside. Sunny and 60 degrees, without a cloud in the sky. I think I’ll go for a run, then saunter down to the coffee shop for a latte and reading. Best enjoy my time as a lady of leisure while I can. 😀

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