I write this from bed, but I went back to bed after going to the American Consulate to have my American passport renewed. It was really rather fun – I always have fun – but it was exhausting for reasons I shall explain later.
But somehow in the midst of this day I solved a major dilemma in my life. I guess that dilemma shall be the word of the day and here you go. At its core, a dilemma is a situation in which a difficult choice has to be made between two or more alternatives ( this is my dilemma: do I stay here for the job security, or do I risk it all for the chance of a better career?). More informally, dilemma can mean ‘a difficult situation or problem’ (as in the insoluble dilemma of adolescence). Some traditionalists object to this weakened use, but it is recorded as early as the first part of the 17th century, and is now widespread and generally acceptable.
The dilemma constantly being explored on this blog, is why am I writing this blog- and for whom? I think that it has changed over the two years of writing the blog but for right now, and this is the sudden realization, I write it for me. Now, given that, why I hand out my blog card like candy and announce its existence in crowded elevators in the American Consulate and other places – I shall never know. But it is fun to have this blog, it is fun to write it and quite frankly, at this present moment, I do not care how many people read it. I am staggered by the numbers – some guy translated it all for me yesterday. His picture is on Instagram, by the way. It comes down to 100 people a day. That is a lot, a huge number, It is enormous. It is not a compulsion the way it was at one time, it is play, it s play even when it is serious. I play with ideas, with situations, with people. Some people are mentioned by name, but others not and there is the nicknames which appear constantly. I do not really know who reads me – not even amongst the people I hold dearest. Sometimes I force feed them, by sending them an email with the blog embedded in it – but this is rare. I find it rather unbelievable to discover that men who pretend to be interested in me, do not read the blog. I guess they are interested in something else, not my mind but something else. I have noticed that they are not around for very long. During those moments of intense self reflection in King’s County Jail I decided to dump the peripheral men in my life and I have. I think four bit the dust, and they have been told. It makes no sense to have guys in my life in Vancouver when I am going to live in London, so why encourage them for the 53 days that remain? I do not think any of them took the time or trouble to read my blogs. I also decided, in those moments of intense self reflection, that I must follow my dream and go to live in London – any doubts about that course of action totally faded. It is not being undertaken with a sense of compulsion that characterized my prior sojourn in London .- it just seems right and fitting. The people that truly care about me are so incredibly supportive – I am moved by their devotion to me even though it means I will not be in their life, but away. Events, other than King’s County Jail, all point to the wisdom of the decision. I can honestly feel Uncle Dave cheering me on, as weird as that may sound. To new readers, it sounds weird because he, the subject of an unfinished biography, has been dead since 1948. I do laugh as I write this.
But as promised, I will describe my day at the American Consulate. I was surprisingly anxious even though it was just an appointment to have my passport renewed and there was no emergency connected with it. I need it for my application to Sotheby’s but the student visa process can begin only three months before admission. i want to complete that process but it is not, in any sense, an immediate demand by them. I know this about myself, if I am overly anxious about something it has to do with a memory. I thought and figured it out. The passport and student visa process in 2014 was horrendous – my passport got lost somewhere in New York and I had to have a short term one issued to allow entry into the UK. The tension was unbelievable. Then, combined with that memory was the memory of my last trip to the American Consulate in Vancouver. I kept an appointment made by Michael Youngue, an attorney, to sign a quit claim deed. But on day of the appointment I awoke to discover that my ‘wished for Dad’ had died.I kept the appointment but I was grief stricken. I remember walking from the Trump International Hotel, where I lived, in a fog of sorrow. I was carrying those memories with me.
But when I got there it was a breeze and actually fun, except for one moment which I shall describe later. The people that work there are so unbelievable sweet, nice, courteous and helpful. They extended a special favor to me and I am so grateful I am going back there again in a couple of weeks. Well, to pick up my passport actually. They were the antithesis of those people at King’s County Jail. I had the most amazing experience at the very end. A darling little Chinese girl walked into the waiting room with her parents and I started talking with her, congratulating her on her glasses which were almost the same color as mine. She went to get a book and I asked her if she wanted me to read it to her. She did and she came and sat by me and I read it to her. It was about a picnic and a guard bear and a bad dog. But then they called my name and I had to leave. I asked to come back and finish the story but they said for security reasons I could not. I want to find out what happened in the end! Well I wanted to see that darling little girl again. But I left as ordered, picked up my cell phone, had some great conversations and went to a nearby Starbucks where someone made a special place for me to sit down. I am SO spoiled. I told everyone on the crowded elevators about my blogs. There was an exceedingly grouchy looking older Indian woman. I wondered and asked her son how old she was (she did not speak English)
He: She sys she is 65.
Me: Holy Cow. I am ten years older, I am 75.
But everyone was so nice. Most people were extremely anxious but I was able to make many of them smile and laugh. Well, and the staff too. At almost the end I had to go to the bathroom and they provided me with an escort to do that. Probably a good idea as otherwise there might have been a puddle on the floor. But here was the bad moment, with occurred an hour before in the same waiting room. I looked out the window and there was the Trump Tower. I never look at it, always averting my eyes if I am on West Georgia which is extremely rare as I no longer go to the Equinox. I was freaked, I stared at it in horror. and felt sick to my stomach. Honestly, I guess I never got over all of that – the Rump International Prison it became at the end. Well, it was nicer than King’s County Jail, I do have to admit. As I said to someone in an email after the ordeal of Seattle was over.
Me: See I have my sense of humour back.
He: That is an amazing story!
So I guess he read my blog, that is the only place I tell the story.
This morning I wrote an email to a man and concluded:
Me: I gotta go, grab some breakfast and go get a renewal of my American passport. The picture is SO cute – honest. I look younger than the picture on my old one taken ten and a half years ago.
Blog readers will get to see the two pictures. Now the neck does not look great but I do look younger in this one. The difference is in the eyes, look how sad I look in the old one. I was so miserable in the final stages of the Husband #3 marriage. It shows, the misery is apparent. Now no marriage and the eyes sparkle. It is better this way.
