The Perils of Operation Study Abroad

Every time I think I've gotten things taken care of and under control, another wrench comes flying in.

Things that have gone wrong, and how I've managed to work them out:

I was told I couldn't/shouldn't bring my cats.
When I told my Study Abroad counselor that I planned to bring my cats with me, he just stared at me blankly before informing me that no other student he knows of has ever brought pets along. I smiled and assured him that I'd be the first then.

I learned the intensely complicated procedure for bringing my cats.
Microchipping, vaccinating, examining, getting paperwork signed by not only vets but government officials (the Food and Drug Administration of all things), not to mention finding an approved route and airline and dealing with the cargo situation and proper kenneling and the $200-400 fee. All of which has been going swimmingly: microchips and vaccinations done, arranged the rest with the vet and planned to shop for kennel, found an airline that was supposed to be pet friendly... more on that later.

I was told it would be difficult to find a place to live (see above re: cats).
This was actually a major concern, since I wasn't sure what I could afford for rent, how to find someone who wouldn't mind the cats, etc. Then one day my lovely friend who already lives in London came along and offered her guest room for reasonable rent. Solved! That's one I'm so very grateful I didn't have to work out on my own.

When I had my financial aid meeting, I found out I'd be getting about 1/3 of the money I thought I would.
This was one of the worst moments. I came really close to actually passing out from shock in the financial aid counselor's office. After I recovered and started pulling my brain back together, I knew I'd have to find someone to help me cosign a loan so I would have enough money. I started calling family members and eventually landed one who agreed. Sorted! Or so I thought...

Because I later found out that said family member could only sign for half the amount I need.
While anything is good, realistically the loan needs to be the full amount. Even with the visa which gives me the ability to work while I'm there, I'd probably be scrounging for food within two months. So I dialed up my courage and asked a friend if they would cosign for the full loan. Wonderfully, they said yes. Sorted again!

I got a call yesterday informing me that the airline I booked my ticket with (KLM, but really Delta) has abruptly changed their pet policy so that no pets can be transported in the cargo hold.
Because I have two cats and they both weigh around 17 pounds, they can't be in the cabin with me. Which means they won't be traveling with me on that airline. This is so intensely frustrating because I was quite happy with my non-stop flight (for the kitties' sanity as well as my own) and that's the only non-stop from here to London. The flight was also extraordinarily cheap because I got it through this student travel website, so the additional $200 to cargo them was tolerable. Now I'm faced with a few possibilities: Delta may be dicks and refuse to refund me for the flight, which means I'll have to potentially pay an extra $2000 to have them shipped by a company that specializes in pet transport. The other possibility is that Delta won't be dicks and will refund my money, meaning I'll have to get another flight altogether, this one including a stop somewhere that will make it more stressful for all of us. Not to mention the flight will probably cost double what I paid for the Delta flight because I'm not sure if I can trust the student travel website to get me a on a flight which allows pets. I'm seething about this because it was all sorted, but thanks go some arbitrary policy change on the part of the airline, it will most likely end up costing me a hell of a lot more than it was going to.

Alright, let's try to shake it off for now. Shake it off. I said shake it off, dammit.

Some of the things that have gone right:

I got into school, got really good grades, and got accepted to the program.
Study Abroad isn't why I decided to go to school. But it's a massive bonus. And my grades are all mine, something for me to be proud of.

The visa process has turned out to be infinitely less complicated than I first thought.
This is partly because I read too much into it and assumed the worst. The money part of the process, which I was sweating over for months, turned out to be not only far easier than I thought, but even somewhat unnecessary. All I need is a letter from my home school saying I'm being offered X amount of money and I only need it "just in case" since it doesn't actually have to be turned in with my application. As of now I have the two main things I need, which is a special number from my host school and the aforementioned letter from my home school. The application itself has to wait another week before it can be filled out due to this 90-day thing. But all in all, pretty easy (if not cheap, at around $450).

I've managed to jump over every hurdle thrown in front of me so far.
As horribly frustrating as all of those things in the first list are, there's always been a way to get past/around/through it by doing the work or swallowing my pride or putting my head down and plowing through. I think I have to thank the meds for some of that... I know damn well that I would have spun right into a fatalistic depressive episode during a few of those hurdles without it.

After all the things I've dealt with already, the visa application is what has me trembling in my boots... what if something goes wrong? I'll feel a lot better once I've got the thing in my hand. I'll feel even better once I've got this latest wrinkle with the cats smoothed out. But I won't be able to relax 100% until me and the boys arrive at our new home in south London. When that happens, I'm pretty sure I'll just hug my new bedroom floor for a few hours. Hopefully with my cats trampling anxiously over me every few minutes.

Ah, what a lovely thought to end this report. Over and out!

Adventures in paperwork

I've been rather steamrollered by end-of-semester preparation madness, so apologies for taking ages to update.

It's been a crazy few weeks since I got my confirmation letter. The amount of paperwork one must do to study abroad for a year is staggering. I've filled out and signed and consulted and been advised. I'm still not done, but I'm getting there. On top of that I've been trying to keep up with all the homework involved in the approaching finals (week after next OMGWHUT). Thanks to my Very Special OCD To-Do Lists I've managed to pretty much keep on top of things.

Along with all the preparation, I got some awesome news and some terrifying news. The awesome news is that my dear friend who lives in south London offered me her spare bedroom for extremely reasonable rent. Which means not only do I have a place to live, it's cat-friendly and it's with someone I've known and loved for the better part of two decades.

I also bought my plane ticket, which was only $731 for a one-way non-stop flight thanks to a lovely student travel website. This is excellent news not only because I prefer non-stop flights (hell, who doesn't?) but for my poor cats who are going to be in Quite A State during the trip, much less so now that they won't have to take off and land twice with a plane switch in the middle. I unfortunately can't sedate them for the ride (totally not good for them), but I may do so for myself considering I'll be stressing out through the whole flight worrying about them. Hope they have cheap booze on the flight...

Now for the less pleasant news: I found out rather too late that the amount of financial aid I thought I would be getting is in fact going to be about 1/3 of that amount. I think I actually almost passed out in the poor financial aid counselor's office when I heard that. Like, I got really cold and numb for about five minutes and couldn't do anything but sort of mutter in her general direction. By the end of the meeting I'd rallied and decided I was determined to make this work. I ended up calling half my family to beg for a cosigner on a loan, and eventually got a very welcome yes. Also, just today I found out that my wonderful and lovely financial aid counselor had managed to tweak some of my current information to get me an increase in money.

The fortunate thing about the timing of this financial meeting (after I'd confirmed with the Study Abroad office and Queen Mary, micro-chipped and vaccinated my poor cats, told everyone I've ever met, secured a living situation, and bought my plane ticket) was that it didn't allow me to just think "oh well, it was a nice daydream while it lasted." Instead I dug in my heels and starting finding a way to make it work. With some help, I did. I'm a bit proud of myself, to be honest. Things really are changing for me, not only in terms of where I'm going to be and what I'll be doing, but my ability to handle adversity in a positive way instead of just sinking into depression.

I've gotten most of the paperwork done at this point. Now come the more tangible steps, like getting my student visa and consolidating/organizing/packing my belongings to be stored or brought along. I'll be doing the latter with the help of the brilliant Unfuck Your Habitat, who have already achieved the amazing goal of motivating me to make my bed everyday. (No, really. EVERY. DAY. If my mom reads this, she's going to have a stroke.)

Stay tuned for exciting cleaning and packing anecdotes!

Just a little slip...

For the past two months, I've been seeing a chemical health counselor in an attempt to alleviate my tendency to sail well past enjoyable levels of drinking and straight into glassy-eyed, slow motion, blackout drunk. Of course most of us have experienced this at some point in our lives; for me, it happens every time I get near alcohol.

There are a number of reasons I binge drink; one of the big ones is social anxiety. I'm intimidated by parties and clubs and all the people that are probably better than me, until I've had ALL the booze. With the help of my chemical health counselor, I've been working on calming down the binge side of binge drinking so that I can enjoy myself without getting trashed. It's a wet program of sorts... the idea is not to quit drinking altogether, but to slow it down and drink at a reasonable level. It's been going remarkably well.

Until Monday.

I thought it might be a good idea to try pushing myself a bit with the social side of things, since I'd experience a couple of social events without blitzing. There's a local gay bar that has a goth/industrial night on Mondays; goth/industrial is the kind of clubbing I grew up on, the kind of music I love dancing to, the kind of people I like to be around - and there is the additional comfort of being in a gay bar. I thought if there was one place I would feel the most relaxed without needing to binge, it would be there.

It turned out I wasn't ready.

One cider became two, which was fine as a start. With the third I gave myself permission to have one shot of cheap vodka (my go-to for getting drunk quick) since I was out and doing this and should be proud and besides it's the first time, I can give myself a break. That was the tipping point of course... once I get the drunk rolling, it's nearly impossible to stop. Shortly after the second cider/shot combination, I found myself kneeling on the floor of the bathroom stall.

As I knelt there with my head hanging over the bowl, I wondered how abasing myself in front of a toilet in a public bathroom with deep beats reverberating through the walls and laughter drifting through the door could possibly be the end result of something so full of hope and desperate need and determination. How it always seems to end this way (or some similar way), every time; how instead of making me loose and fun and witty and desirable the booze only makes me dizzy and confused and sick and pathetic.

I got myself home safe on public transportation and dove into the White Cheddar Cheez-Its which are my guaranteed hangover cure. I didn't slip into a well of self loathing, I didn't cut, I didn't cry. I did wake up with a monster headache, but managed to come through it physically and emotionally unscarred.

It's not the end of the world, I know. It was just... too much, too soon. I think I'll get there eventually, to that place where I don't have to dangle the sparkling bottles in front of my eyes to distract myself from the loneliness and worthlessness that still lives inside me. I hope that someday I'll be able to get out on the floor without the taste of ashes in my mouth; to close my eyes and dance without caring if anyone is watching.