Guys, this didn’t work.
This trip to London was supposed to get it all out of my system. I’ve spent a total of six weeks in the city – each trip a week longer than the last – but I’m not done. I know my love of this city is a little irrational, but have you met me? There’s something here that wants me to stay. I can feel it. No vacation, regardless of length, will ever be enough here .. I need to live in London. I know this as well as I know anything.
This isn’t just the idle rumblings of someone who isn’t quite ready to return to reality, either. I’ve only felt like this one other time in my life: when I was wholly convinced I would shrivel up and die if I didn’t live in Vancouver. I was supposed to be in BC, and every passing month I spent languishing in Calgary was killing me with angst. I needed to be on the coast, so I worked my ass off (and did so much fast talking it became a habit) to make that happen.
I still love Vancouver, but I love it like I love
Fresca Victoria – many fond memories, and a permanent place in my heart. It doesn’t really feel like home anymore though – there are so many things I’ve been done with for ages now – and the urgency I felt years ago has been long sated. I feel it here, though. I’m supposed to be a Londoner. So how do I make that happen?
Complications. So many of them, least of which is qualifying for that Visa. I don’t know if anyone truly knows how hard it was to convince Ed that Vancouver wouldn’t kill him, but that would be like asking Ed if he’d like a blow job in comparison. The house. The cats. The sheer amount of money it would take to make it happen. So many obstacles .. but they’re the same obstacles I’ve faced, and conquered, before.
I can do this. I have to, because a force stronger than my ridiculousness is driving me to.