April 1st, 2009

reading is fun-damental

Bad vision

Just out of the corner of my eyes, saw a reference to that famous Garcia Marquez book, "Love in the Time of Chocolate." This probably means I shouldn't be reading email out of the corner of my eyes.

J has pulled his neck and is in a world of hurt. He couldn't turn his head yesterday and could barely focus - his eyes were watering and he looked horrible. He still went to French class, but he's staying home today.

Last night I wound up not going out for pizza with wechsler as he was getting sick and instead went to dreamsewing for dinner and a visit. We wound up fondling all sorts of silk brocades and talking about lovely outfits she might make for me. The hard part will be making a decision.

And ... I'm finishing my Darjeeling Balason Oolong, time to get to work!

Limitation on amount of time abroad for indefinite leave to remain

In two and a half years I can apply for ILF (Indefinite Leave to Remain), the English equivalent of permanent residency. I'm pretty hot for this as it means I can go back home and take care of business (or ill relatives) if I need to without having to face jumping all the hurdles again in order to be able to come back and work legally.

However, I found out over lunch yesterday that, while being gone for more than a month or two at a time could negate my current work permit (I can't remember the details), in addition there is a maximum total amount of time you binge out of Great Britain that you cannot exceed in order to qualify for ILR. That time is 225 days (more or less, I will look up the details at some point).

Over the course of the last 2 1/2 years, I have been gone for 106 days. It's about to go up to 120 days.

It's possible that the days that you leave and the days you return won't count against me, in which case I'm at about 70 days, but, still, I will need to keep an eye on this. Perhaps spending my vacation time in Scilly will begin to look more attractive after all (despite the outrageous expense of getting there).

Not a happy thought

Sad is having someone you see as family make fun of you ... to other people. And not in the nice/ pulling your leg/teasing kind of way. In the mean way.

Sometimes I think I need to extend my chosen family by at least one, because there are days when I wish I had the calming feeling of knowing, "Yes, there are people who would welcome me into their household any day, no questions asked, and would be delighted that I was there for meals." It hasn't been like that for me since the day my grandma died (though technically it hasn't been like that since she moved into the nursing home, but I bet if I'd shown up with the car and said, "Hop in, lady, I'm bustin' you outta here!" she would have gone for it). But in some ways I've never really felt like that, at least not since my mom kicked me out, but she made it clear to me long before the day after I turned 18 (and got the boot) that she was looking to move me on because I was getting in between her and her boyfriend.

Anyway. A little more about me and what makes me my own special trainwreck. I've often felt like people who knew they had that place to go, those people to welcome them are a little bit mentally better off than I am.