so I'm moving to England next Tuesday.

Not this Tuesday. The Tuesday after it. 

And I am full of conflicts. And terror. And delicious chili. Sometimes it's easy to mistake chili for terror.

While I am a committed Anglophile with an unhealthy interest in British media, this move isn't by choice, and I'm not doing it for pleasure or work. I'm doing it because my handsome new husband is going back for non-optional reasons, and I will have to accept that I'm going to be a Kept Woman for a while. 

The husband is excited because, in his innocent little heart, he strongly believes that I will use this inspiring free time to write an amazing novel. And I am terrified because I'm not sure that I can. And also because I'm leaving a great support network, an interesting and rewarding job, steady money, great hobbies and lots of snacks to trot around at the heels of a boy. A truly wonderful and beloved boy, but a heteronormative life partner nonetheless. 

An accurate depiction of noodly-armed terror disguised as apathy

I feel the absolute clarity of my position. I will either raise my chin, draw confidence and dignity around myself like a cloak, and walk into my new life with grace and courage, slipping through one of the Greatest Human Cities of Earth like a fish in a larger shoal. OR I will chew off my own foot and run howling into the woods, where I will subsist on maple sap, berries and cynicism - like any other creature of Darkest Vermont. It's not too late to run away.

Actually, it's way too late. I've already bought the plane ticket. I am going to have to face up to London, somehow.

Arglehargleblarglebibbly.

Love,

Cinna

P.S. The formatting of this post is truly horrific (WHAT IS WITH THE WHITE PATCHES, BLOGGER? WHY ARE YOU SO BAD) but I'm going to leave it because I'm too cool to care.