OHMIGOD

I'm legal for Australia. I cannot believe how fast and effeciently my application was processed. I am composing not so much a prayer as a paean of gratitude, pre-emptively, and perhaps my expectations are too high, which so far runs a little like this:

Dear Australia,

Thank you for not getting on my tits all the goddamn time, like some countries I could name.
Thank you for welcoming this poor huddled mass of hyper-educated middle class Caucasian woman despite the interesting conviction of some of you have that the country's all full up,
And once more, thank you for not getting on my tits.

Yours,

Mistress La Spliffe

I plan to recite it every morning.

But just in case you think I might have gone soft, here's my first sweeping complaining-type generalization about Australians: I have yet to meet one who knows how to use a comma (maybe over-influenced in a literary sense by Ned Kelly?). But frankly at this point I don't care so it doesn't really count as a complaint. They could just jettison punctuation completely if it doesn't stop them from being as awesomely effecient as they are relative to the people among whom I've been living for the last three and a half years. Nevertheless it's been remarkable.