More Background Noise

When will the visa get here? Monday? Next Friday? I know someone whose visa came in a week and someone whose visa came in six weeks. When will mine come? Tuesday? Thursday? Three Wednesdays from now?

How many pairs of black shoes—black wedges, black sneakers, black heels, black flip-flops, black sandals—do I really need?

What will the job be like? What will working at all be like? What will the co-workers be like? I’ll have to commute again. I’ll have to sit at a desk again and squint at a computer. I mean, I think I will. I wrote a presentation and did the interview and managed, I guess, to sound like I sort of knew what I was talking about, but I still have no idea what it will really be like. I have no idea If I’ll be able to do it. I have forgotten what it’s like to get a regular paycheck but if memory serves, that part is going to be awesome.

Goodbye again, iguanas, giant red ants, seventy-degrees in December, plantanos, knowing how to drive, banyan trees, being able to call anyone I want on the phone, cheap clothes and books, jellyfish, orchids, espanol cada dia, parrots flying over US1. Goodbye, Mom and Rebecca, for who knows how long.

Era un bel sogno, un bel sogno.

Purr purr, baby kitty! Not so little now, huh little Potato? Huh little baby sweetie kitt—OW. Ow, cat. Let go—let go! No, don’t type for me, get off the lapoiedrp doriuoehls 08934- ifoqwur0 fksaf; GET OFF OF THAT. Get off my leg! Get off my hand! GET OFF ME WITH YOUR NEEDLE-SHARP TEETH, BABY KITTY! GET OFF OF—awww. Sorry, baby. Sorry, little baby kitty. Want to cuddle? Purr purr, little baby kitty OW GET OFF ME OW.

Should I try to get a flat in Haitaitai or in Mt. Vic this time? Back to Berhampore? I kind of don’t want to live there unless I can live in the flat with A. which will be hard as she’s in Vancouver. Can I afford to live on my own this time around or is it yet another round of flatmate interviews? If I live in Mt. Vic I will be farther away from the beach but closer to public transport BUT the likelihood of my sharing a sidewalk corner with Jemaine Clement again (and some woman he was with that I think he married but whatever) on the way to New World is higher; maybe this time we would do more than make eye contact and smile secret, wordless smiles at each other. Oh, Jemaine. I would be fine paying ridiculously inflated rent if only I could share a street corner with you again.

How many pairs of black pants—black side-zip pants, black yoga pants, black shorts, black pocket pants—do I really need?

Okay if the visa comes next week then I can get the tickets right away and be there by the end of January and put in the residency application as soon as I get there if they’ll switch my local office from London to Wellington, which, hello, they totally should because I’ll be right there. But what if they visa doesn’t come for six weeks and I’m supposed to be there in six weeks? HUH? WHAT THEN?

I feel sort of disloyal for even thinking this but: Anne Shirley gets really boring after she marries Gilbert Blythe. Why didn’t you just stay single and teach school, Anne, or have a Boston Marriage with Diana Barry or something? Anne’s House Of Dreams is a letdown every single time I read it, and yet I feel uncomfortable if I don’t finish out the series.

How many black shirts—black short-sleeved v-neck, black long-sleeved v-neck, black tank top, black camisole, black scoop-neck, black with a little bow on the side, black sweater, black with a cupcake on it—do I really need?

Hello again, Cuba Street Carnival, bowl-sized hot chocolates, tuis, fern trees, Fringe, the Southern Cross, gold coins, te reo, “cheers driver!”, feijoas, Mighty Mighty, Botanical Gardens, Island Bay, “yip!”, Outrageous Fortune, Aotearoa dub, Kapiti, horrible Courtenay Place on a fantastic Saturday night. Hello again Wellington, for who knows how long.