No time like the present...
Well, thus commences my chronicle of the journey of a lifetime. I'm picking up everything I own (that I haven't or am not giving away) and moving, literally, across the world to live in the South Pacific. Palau, to be exact.
The crazy, she runs in my family.
I thought I'd wait until I got there to start. You know, use this space for my family and friends to keep up with the doings. But hell. Whose blog is actually for anything else but to feed narcissistic yearnings? This is for me dammit, and someday, I'll want to look back on the whole process and laugh. Or cry. Besides, the "how did I get to Palau (literally and figuratively)" is just as important as what type of fish I'm eating when I get there. And more entertaining, I should suspect.
So, we pick up our story here, wherein our heroine (it's my blog, I can be what I want) has applied, on a lark, for a position in Palau and, against all odds, been awarded said position. It comes with an official-sounding title that has suddenly caused her much consternation. What if, in fact, she's not actually qualified for the job for which she has been hired? Paradoxically, this precise issue never crossed her mind in the entire hiring process. But, we're getting ahead of ourselves.
Our heroine, whom I shall call DeVita (for it is her secret wish to be a drag queen with the stage name, DeVita Montreal), is a newly appointed government official type. She has accepted, told her new employer she'll be there in six weeks and quit her current job.
Today, DeVita bought her plane ticket, fixing a date on her departure, which heretofore had been identified only as "mid-July". Upon selecting a date and committing to it by booking airline tickets, DeVita promptly freaked the fuck out. Seriously. She has an apartment what needs renting, a cat what needs a home, a household what needs to be sold, donated or packed and shipped and a whole community what needs to be bid adieu (at least for two years). And all in a matter of weeks.
And that about brings us up to date. Dear Lord, what have I done?
The answer to the latter question, of course, is slightly more than nothing (see above list). But I now possess a one-way ticket to Gilligan's Island, which is half the battle.
The crazy, she runs in my family.
I thought I'd wait until I got there to start. You know, use this space for my family and friends to keep up with the doings. But hell. Whose blog is actually for anything else but to feed narcissistic yearnings? This is for me dammit, and someday, I'll want to look back on the whole process and laugh. Or cry. Besides, the "how did I get to Palau (literally and figuratively)" is just as important as what type of fish I'm eating when I get there. And more entertaining, I should suspect.
So, we pick up our story here, wherein our heroine (it's my blog, I can be what I want) has applied, on a lark, for a position in Palau and, against all odds, been awarded said position. It comes with an official-sounding title that has suddenly caused her much consternation. What if, in fact, she's not actually qualified for the job for which she has been hired? Paradoxically, this precise issue never crossed her mind in the entire hiring process. But, we're getting ahead of ourselves.
Our heroine, whom I shall call DeVita (for it is her secret wish to be a drag queen with the stage name, DeVita Montreal), is a newly appointed government official type. She has accepted, told her new employer she'll be there in six weeks and quit her current job.
Today, DeVita bought her plane ticket, fixing a date on her departure, which heretofore had been identified only as "mid-July". Upon selecting a date and committing to it by booking airline tickets, DeVita promptly freaked the fuck out. Seriously. She has an apartment what needs renting, a cat what needs a home, a household what needs to be sold, donated or packed and shipped and a whole community what needs to be bid adieu (at least for two years). And all in a matter of weeks.
And that about brings us up to date. Dear Lord, what have I done?
The answer to the latter question, of course, is slightly more than nothing (see above list). But I now possess a one-way ticket to Gilligan's Island, which is half the battle.
posted by E. at
4:08 PM
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