I just had a phone interview with my recruiting company. The terrifying crystallisation I predicted in my last post actually happened gradually this evening while I was at work. The idea that I am in fact contemplating living alone in another country for A FUCKING YEAR is terrifying; however, my alternative (sink back into a routine of work at mind-numbing job/fritter away precious youth) is even more terrifying in a less immediate way. This is it. Breaking point. I can either imagine this prospect as the first step in the globetrotting lifestyle I imagine for myself, and accept that it will obliterate my comfort zone, or I can cling to said comfort zone and end up working in an office in this wretched suburban wasteland with all the other jerks.

If I go, and I hate it, and regret the whole affair, and chalk it up as one of the worst years of my life – well, that will still be better than working at Coles for the rest of the year.

Anyway, the interview itself was a snap. I chatted to a nice Canadian woman for about ten minutes and answered a few questions about what my coworkers might think of me, or situations where I’ve had to deal with stress. The manager at Sizzler grilled me harder than that. What I have to do now is navigate the tedious bureaucracies of more than one nation in order to accumulate a thick folder of documentation – a joy I am well acquainted with. (Speaking of which, the Irish embassy should have long since mailed back all the original documentation they demanded, which includes my FUCKING MEDICARE CARD.) I’m set for a valid passport, getting university transcripts will be simple, and I have no criminal record so a police check by the feds will probably just take forever and cost a lot of money. As easy as pie!

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