Well, just found out my S.O. got into the Ph.D. program (soon to be spelled programme) of his choice... in Glasgow, Scotland, UK. Of course, they were so excited by his off-hand application that they want him THIS FALL. In September. Which means we have just a very short amount of time to dismantle... oh, our whole lives for the last several years.
Just the other day, Robin was commenting on how she likes her deadlines nice and tight. Well, should Ms. Brande come move house for me, sell my car, pack up my things and finish my revision and chat with my agent, I'll be happy to stay in bed, with the covers drawn up, screaming.
Of course I'm happy to be going - I'm young(ish), change is good, adventure is better, blah blah blah. Of course I'm thrilled with oilskin macs and rubber boots and ankle-deep puddles (and if I'm not, I'd best become thrilled, quickly. It has been the wettest June on record this summer, and July looks to be heading for the record books as well) and there ARE cool things to do with tartan plaid. I'm just ...a tiny bit... urm, worried.
What if there aren't any books?
No, stop laughing at me. I know perfectly well that the UK is still on earth. I mean, what if it's all so academic I don't have a library for me? What will I do if She Who Will Get My Book doesn't have any good YA? What if nobody throws me a going away party or my computer breaks and can't be saved?
I know YA must be huge in Scotland, it's not like Our Jane of the Blessed Prose doesn't go there half of every single year! But I don't know from Scotland, nothing at all. And I shall stick out in my ignorance, not to mention my non-Scots-brownness, even wearing my S.O.'s rather dauntingly bright plaid.
But, it's going to be great, right?