an ocean and a rock away

In an effort to be prepared and economical for my upcoming overseas move, I am trying to take an honest look at my bookshelves and get rid of things I don’t need.   It’s kind of like that thing where if you haven’t worn a clothing item for a year, you must get rid of it when the Amvets lady calls to seek donations.

The trouble is, in my case, that I am a lifelong bookworm and library nerd and this is turning out to be the most painful parting of ways so far in this paring down of worldly goods.  As a child, you would generally find me in a corner, reading.  I mean, always.  I got books for every birthday and holiday.   I wore out my library card.   I literally read every single book in my elementary school library.  When I grew up, I went to work in a bookstore and always loved it.   I used to date librarians almost exclusively.  I mean, I have a serious thing about books, people.

But realistically, even if I could afford to ship all of them (I probably can’t) I have to be reasonable and consider that there is a very tiny house waiting on the other side of the ocean and there simply isn’t room.  But what stays and what goes?  I mean, obviously I am not using my ophthalmology textbooks anymore, so they can go (and will fetch a nice price on half.com or something.)  Take all the lousy horror novels people got me for Christmas grab bags, and anything I read that I thought, “Eh, it was ok,” and subsequently forgot the plot.

But what about things like my autographed copy of Interview With the Vampire?   My leather bound first edition of the first Harry Potter book?  The Michael Moore autographs?   I mean, throw out my nice Quality Paperback of Eleanor Roosevelt’s biography but what do we do about the hardback Sesame Street books my mom used to read to me?  High School year books?  The book of John Donne poems given to me by a friend who has died since?  The Buckminster Fuller I looked all over for, as it was out of print?   The stack of books I got at Christmas last year that I haven’t even had time to crack open yet because I have been busy doing this meet-someone-get-married-move-to-another-country thing?  I guess we can toss both copies of Catch 22 (they are really worn) and maybe even the Motorcycle Diaries, but man, I read that copy of Matilda about 900 times, and that copy of the Martian Chronicles is actually one I swiped from that english teacher I hated in eighth grade.

Urgh.  Maybe I should just pray for fire.

Yes, that’s right.  We upped and managed to get married on the 12th.  To answer everyone’s burning question:  Immigration didn’t ask and we didn’t tell.   My boyfriend just told them that he was here to visit his girlfriend, that he worked for the Uni and was going back in two weeks.  End of story.

He was here until yesterday, which explains my absence from many internet places.  Oddly, our parting this time didn’t result in my usual inconsolable weeping at the airport.  This is interesting to me.  To be honest, I never was much of a crying person when it came time to say goodbye;  only with him.  The first time, it kind of freaked me out to realize I was doing it.   I guess this time it’s just different because I cannot WAIT to get to England again and therefore have my eyes on the prize, instead of this stupid six to eight week gap that will probably have to exist before I see him again.

People keep asking me how weird it is to be newly married and back in our respective countries.   It’s weird.  But on the other hand, I have never been married before and don’t really know what it’s like to have that kind of blissful movie experience where you honeymoon together and everyone is cool with staying out of your hair for a week, so I guess I don’t miss it.  I just miss him.

* Yellow school buses

* Cricket chirping noises

* Twinkies, Beef Jerky and Mountain Dew, Ahoy!

* Massive quantities of packaged goods

* Mailbox flags

* Electrical outlets in the bathroom

Just for the record:

He just told the guy he was here to see his girlfriend, explained that he worked at a university and said he was going home in ten days.   They didn’t ask him anything else, and he didn’t volunteer.  No sweat.

Naturally, this is a massive relief and oh, hey, hello cute accented boy sleeping in my bed in Illinois.   We even lucked out and his wedding ring, which I ordered and he’s never seen, fits and makes him happy.   We rule.  So content right now.

My boyfriend is boarding a plane to Chicago right now.   We had a long discussion about what to say to immigration when he lands.   The message boards I’m on basically are of two minds:

1.  Never lie to immigration.

2.  Always lie to immigration.

I told him to be honest but not to volunteer information, but really, what does that even mean?   The fact is that it’s completely legal and OK for a UK citizen to come to the US to get married and then go back home again.   They don’t need anything unless they are staying.  He has a letter from work to prove he’s due back, copies of his mortgage and his teaching contract, and even some cards from friends wishing us congratulations.  (Yes, we’ve met in person.  Go figure, immigration dude.)

Still, you just never know what one of those guys could do if they are having a bad day, so even though we are probably fine and mostly will not have to deal with this kind of ambiguity again, I’m still totally nervous they will not like the idea that he’s here as the groom and bounce him and the whole thing will fall apart.  I’ll die, seriously.  I’ve been a brave little toaster lately but without boyfriend hugs very soon, I’ll totally cave.

So, off to try to get some sleep before I go get his skinny butt from the airport tomorrow.   I know once he gets in the car that everything will be 100x better and I’ll be able to breathe again.

Because all I have to do in the next couple of weeks is meet a massive deadline at my new job, get married and apply for a visa (hr hr hr), I decided to also start researching what it’s going to take to move my stuff to the UK.

I wasn’t planning to bring any furniture, and the stuff that’s left would maybe fill 30 medium boxes if I didn’t bother throwing a single thing away.   I’m kind of obsessed with owning less stuff anyway, so I’ve been paring down the last few years and I’m pretty sure that by the time I go, I can be down to like 18 biggish boxes, max, and that’s including a couple of quilts I’m bringing and my clothes, too.  (I bet with a few tears I could be down to half that.)

The first estimate says there is a minimum of 1000 pounds, and that the price is at least $2495, by sea.   I’m a novice here but I am pretty sure “by sea” translates to, “will probably take two months and arrive right around the time you want to go home for Christmas.”   My boyfriend likes to add to my paranoia by going, “yeah, and those shipping containers are crazy!  They are just sitting on those big boats and what happens if they just fall into the ocean forever?”     Wooo!  Something new to worry about!

Anyway, that’s just too much money to ship my measley goods.  I will keep looking around.  Someone recommended upackweship but you know, the first listings for them on google are all customer complaints (red flag) and their website looks shady, too.  (Hi, I do web design work for a living and am therefore a snob about these things.

Today I:

- cleared out two more boxes of clothes

- ripped my christmas music so i don’t have to pack it

- talked my mom out of buying two $260 kittens

- figured out how i’m going to decorate our kitchen.  i think.

- talked with BF about how our landlady just gave us 30 days notice to vacate the apartment, which you know, ISN’T INCONVENIENT AT ALL considering he will be in the states for two weeks in september.

- found the title to my old junker of a car and got it ready to donate

- realized i will have to do the same with my junker of a piano.  antiques dealer maybe?

- and somehow managed to almost pass out in my sister’s backyard during a ten minute conversation about the car.  can’t say i love english weather but i sure won’t miss chicago summertimes all that much.

I think I need to impose some kind of time limit on the ex-pat forums each night.   Otherwise, I just spend hours in there reading about all the things that could go wrong, and all the things I will eventually need to plan but don’t have to plan NOW, and give myself a heart attack.

I think one hour at a time is good.  One SUBJECT at a time would be better.

I have found a lovely forum at http://www.uk-yankee.com/ where other people moving from the US to the UK gather to swap experiences and advice.  It’s the best one I’ve been on so far and I’m enjoying it a lot.

I’m also giving myself high blood pressure by reading too much, too fast and panicking about everything I hadn’t thought to think about yet.   Things like the fact that I have to keep filing US federal taxes as long as I live in England, unless I’m prepared to renounce my citizenship.    Things like what I might have to do in order to get a GP and get a tax number when I arrive.  Things like the fact that the US doesn’t honor wills created in the UK, so if I have things here and something happens to me, they will just belong to the state unless I’ve made a will in both countries.

Basically, lots of things that just sound like “BLAH BLAH BLAH MUST DEAL WITH A MILLION ANNOYING OR SCARY GOVERNMENT AGENCIES AND GOOD LUCK FINDING A PROFESSIONAL WHO IS EXPERIENCED IN THE LAWS OF TWO NATIONS AND YOUR HOME STATE BLAH BLAH BLAH.”

I mean, I’m totally glad I found these guys, because in the end, they are saving me from a world of troubles later, but good lord.  I feel like I might hyperventilate and pass out, and that was before I even got to the board about how homesick they all are.