Got visa. Now to wrap up the truckloads of work that has been piling up on my desk while I fretted and fumed.
Serves me right.
Wednesday, July 20, 2005
I try to stay awake/ And remember my name/ But everybody's changing/ And I don't feel the same.
In a parallel universe fairly close to ours, things are falling apart. And a bloke called Tom Chaplin's singing stuff that vaguely makes sense to me.
Here's something I do to keep my angst down to controllable levels: loop a single track endlessly. It becomes my Song of the Day, and acts as a theme/ counterpoint/ silly comment/ distracting thought/ antidote to whatever ails me at the moment of listening.
Does it work? But then, does anything?
Here's something I do to keep my angst down to controllable levels: loop a single track endlessly. It becomes my Song of the Day, and acts as a theme/ counterpoint/ silly comment/ distracting thought/ antidote to whatever ails me at the moment of listening.
Does it work? But then, does anything?
Tuesday, July 19, 2005
How long, how long, baby/ How long has it been?
Checked my visa status online a while ago. Was politely informed that my passport was at the embassy. Called the visa centre, only to be told that my application only arrived at their doorstep yesterday.
Yesterday!
Naturellement, Polite Lady at the Other End of the Line could only tell me about my visa tomorrow, or, worst case, the day after. I counted to 300 before smiling and putting down the phone.
Today, a travel agent will die.
Yesterday!
Naturellement, Polite Lady at the Other End of the Line could only tell me about my visa tomorrow, or, worst case, the day after. I counted to 300 before smiling and putting down the phone.
Today, a travel agent will die.
This happened once before/ When I came to your door/ No reply.
The trip was planned a long time ago ('a long time' = several months). Postponed twice due to lack of funds. Finally attempted not due to an improvement in financial status, but the scary-as-hell realisation that the ticket to Paris expires at the end of July.
Invitation letter sought. Nervous breakdown approached thanks to many long-distance calls to friends and family in France. Invitation letter stood poised to arrive early next year. Or, a few dozen more calls later, at the end of the scheduled trip. So went back online, booked a hotel, applied to the French Consulate, and waited.
And waited (la la laa!).
Meanwhile, the world went on. Bombings in the UK. Patrick Vieira joined Juventus. HP6 was released. Bastille Day came and went. My blonde highlights got two shades lighter. Another age-revealing (I'm 33) fine line appeared on my otherwise fairly unlined face.
'Tomorrow', said the travel agent. A few days later, he rephrased his reassurances: 'This evening, or perhaps, first thing tomorrow'. It's now Tuesday. My flight leaves for Charles de Gaulle at 7.20 a.m., Saturday.
As I pack for Goa, people ask me why I have no faith. Bah.
Invitation letter sought. Nervous breakdown approached thanks to many long-distance calls to friends and family in France. Invitation letter stood poised to arrive early next year. Or, a few dozen more calls later, at the end of the scheduled trip. So went back online, booked a hotel, applied to the French Consulate, and waited.
And waited (la la laa!).
Meanwhile, the world went on. Bombings in the UK. Patrick Vieira joined Juventus. HP6 was released. Bastille Day came and went. My blonde highlights got two shades lighter. Another age-revealing (I'm 33) fine line appeared on my otherwise fairly unlined face.
'Tomorrow', said the travel agent. A few days later, he rephrased his reassurances: 'This evening, or perhaps, first thing tomorrow'. It's now Tuesday. My flight leaves for Charles de Gaulle at 7.20 a.m., Saturday.
As I pack for Goa, people ask me why I have no faith. Bah.
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