Good news from work - my boss has decided that our jobs will be a lot more interesting. It will be harder work but that's cool. I was already showing up and that's 90% of the pain in my ass already. Showing up, unlike today, or at least this morning, when I get to "work from home" in anticipation of my trip to the maison communale to finally get my residency card. It will be long and annoying and full of civil servants, but it has to be done if I want to get a high-yield savings account - otherwise I can't imagine why I'd bother, I've been living in this country for more than a year now and nobody else has demanded more than a smile in the way of papers.
More than a year, and it's been a year since I got this job, I reckon. For the first time in awhile, I seem to be more or less where I imagined I'd be 12 months from then. It's okay. And I'm getting fonder and fonder of Belgium as the weather slooooowly warms up. If we get a real summer this year I may forebear from cursing blue at the uselessness of the place. We have committed, between ourselves, to stay here for awhile, but who knows what will happen? We could go apeshit and take off. But San Francisca and her man had been looking at two or so years, and here it is seven years later . . . And others at my office, especially the British, no longer show any inclination at all to leave. The quality of life here versus English cities is not to be compared. Sometimes I wonder that anyone lives in England anymore, though I miss Yorkshire from time to time.
Still, we're both having some mental problems in terms of putting down roots. Easier for me maybe as I'm a bit younger and care rather less, though it does give me a floaty schizoid feeling from time to time, and no doubt alters my behaviour as, practically speaking, I don't give a fuck as long as the money keeps rolling in. Worse for the F-word, probably, as he needs roots. You know what 'roots' means in Australian? Third person singular of 'to fuck'. Hah!
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