From a Facebook note, entitled "Brief unemployment? It's starting to feel like forever..." on September 23rd of last year:
4: Malmö. Uh yeah - again no real basis for this, other than the fact that a friend has a job, and as such a house there, and has suggested, quite forcefully if you will, on a number of occasions, that I head over there and live out my Swedish dream. Whatever that is. Personally, neighbouring Denmark is the bigger drawcard, which is literally within running distance (is that bridge from Malmö to Copenhagen pedestrian, anyone?). Again, I don't speak Swedish, but my sister's boyfriend does, and I'm sure he can teach me all I need to know. Right? I also happen to have a European Union passport... so I can stay as long as I like, go to wherever I like (hello, Romania), or I guess if things don't really go to plan, I can bugger off "home", to Norwich, England.
4: Malmö. Uh yeah - again no real basis for this, other than the fact that a friend has a job, and as such a house there, and has suggested, quite forcefully if you will, on a number of occasions, that I head over there and live out my Swedish dream. Whatever that is. Personally, neighbouring Denmark is the bigger drawcard, which is literally within running distance (is that bridge from Malmö to Copenhagen pedestrian, anyone?). Again, I don't speak Swedish, but my sister's boyfriend does, and I'm sure he can teach me all I need to know. Right? I also happen to have a European Union passport... so I can stay as long as I like, go to wherever I like (hello, Romania), or I guess if things don't really go to plan, I can bugger off "home", to Norwich, England.
Owing to my recent spell of bad luck (includes but is not limited to the month of January and recent incidents like my bike theft, infringement notice and car towing - more on THAT shortly), I've decided it's high time I skipped the country.
Sure, I've got a HELL of a lot less savings than I did when I moved to Auckland. But I've still got enough for a one-way flight out of this tangled web I call my life. Flights to London start at $999, and from there I can get one of those ridiculous Ryan Air flights to Stockholm, Sweden for pittance.
I'm going.
I asked Marco about it last night.
"Of course," was his reply. "Come on over, Botox and all, baby." He was referring of course to the recent photo of Libby and I at her 21st, in which I've become convinced that it looks like I've had Botox. I took that as a yes. He recommended I fly into Stockholm-Arlanda on April 18 (the day after I graduate from SRA), so I started casually perusing the net (read: searching pedantically) for flights.
Imagine my dismay this morning then, when I received an email from Marco, asking if I was actually serious.
"I don't actually know if I can get you a job! Have you thought about this, crazy lady?" Are you serious? Less than twelve hours ago, you were all game. What's the deal!?
Sweden has been a more "serious" option, if you will, since the opportunity arose. I mean, why not. Half of the year is constant daylight, and the other is constant darkness. Which means I can divide my time equally between running and cycling in their respective ideal conditions. I can live there visa-free, and if I go after I finish at SRA, I'm going to get a job. Swedes are the vanity queens of the world. In Gothenburg, where Marco recently visited, he gave a rather generous estimate that every second store is beauty related. I mean, he's probably exaggerating just slightly, but I'm willing to take my chances.
If I stay here, things are just going to get worse.
I'll organise an event on Facebook for my leaving do. I've always wanted an event!! If you can't make it, RSVP anyway. Sure, it's two months away, but does this look like a face that cares? Check out the scenery, yo!
Sure, I've got a HELL of a lot less savings than I did when I moved to Auckland. But I've still got enough for a one-way flight out of this tangled web I call my life. Flights to London start at $999, and from there I can get one of those ridiculous Ryan Air flights to Stockholm, Sweden for pittance.
I'm going.
I asked Marco about it last night.
"Of course," was his reply. "Come on over, Botox and all, baby." He was referring of course to the recent photo of Libby and I at her 21st, in which I've become convinced that it looks like I've had Botox. I took that as a yes. He recommended I fly into Stockholm-Arlanda on April 18 (the day after I graduate from SRA), so I started casually perusing the net (read: searching pedantically) for flights.
Imagine my dismay this morning then, when I received an email from Marco, asking if I was actually serious.
"I don't actually know if I can get you a job! Have you thought about this, crazy lady?" Are you serious? Less than twelve hours ago, you were all game. What's the deal!?
Sweden has been a more "serious" option, if you will, since the opportunity arose. I mean, why not. Half of the year is constant daylight, and the other is constant darkness. Which means I can divide my time equally between running and cycling in their respective ideal conditions. I can live there visa-free, and if I go after I finish at SRA, I'm going to get a job. Swedes are the vanity queens of the world. In Gothenburg, where Marco recently visited, he gave a rather generous estimate that every second store is beauty related. I mean, he's probably exaggerating just slightly, but I'm willing to take my chances.
If I stay here, things are just going to get worse.
I'll organise an event on Facebook for my leaving do. I've always wanted an event!! If you can't make it, RSVP anyway. Sure, it's two months away, but does this look like a face that cares? Check out the scenery, yo!
No comments:
Post a Comment