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It was with great delight that I read today that our beloved paraclete is now a content editor.

Occasional visits to E2 during the hectic and bittersweet goings-on connected with my father's funeral friday (how's that for awful alliteration) have revealed a whole crop of writers whose names are unfamiliar to me. This is a good thing. Things seemed to be kinda stagnant during the summer months.

At the risk of sounding like a broken record, my friends here at E2 provided messages of love and support that were great for my karma.

Dad died two Fridays ago. I was holding his left hand, and his minister the other. My family arrived shortly thereafter.

The ensuing week was just a blur.

Among the good stuff: his congregation was sooo supportive and loving, despite that I am basically a complete stranger to them; at the funeral, I had the pleasure of being surprised by no fewer than ten people that I'd regrettably fallen out of touch with, they came after seeing his obituary; finally, the funeral service was just beautiful and very progressive (in a Unitarian church) and provided a lot of closure for me.

Among the bad stuff: mother was acting out much more so than usual - to be expected, though. The worst was that the jazz combo that I'd retained (at dad's request) to play before and after the funeral upped the $$ ante two days before the event by 60%. I was furious but couldn't, given the situation, say no. As the cosa nostra so aptly put it, "revenge is a platter best eaten cold."

I look forward to noding as actively as ever in the coming weeks. I must get used to going back to work, today, with a meeting in New York. My brother leaves for L.A. on Tuesday, and I'll be alone to tend to mom and the house.

Who knows how I'll grieve. I'm either at peace now, or numb; don't know which. I just feel "too good," in my opinion, for someone who's just lost their dad.

More later, and my best to all of you!

- shaogo

London calls. But it's not calling me, it's only calling half of this dynamic equilibrium, it's only calling Cwellan. It is calling him over and over, they've been hinting at possibly shipping him out for almost a year. But this time it's real. This time his supervisors are discussing terms and arrangements, offers, shift differentials, moving expenses, temporary work visas. Sponsorship. Cwellan is researching the tax laws, residency requirements, soberly relates to me that there's "not that many chemical engineering jobs." Looking at me with eyes that ask "Isn't it going to be great?" before they drop, not sure if life will be much different for me.

I shouldn't be surprised, I suppose. Every so often when the shift changes, this comes up. Maybe this time they'll really send him. They're late with their offer letter, and my life is just the same as always, except my brain is haywire. My friends keep telling me to stop worrying until he gets the offer. Other friends have told me to "just go, you're only young once!" Fine, I'm young, but I drip heavy with debt. Quitting my job in favor of playing around in London, unregistered and unemployed, doesn't sound too smart. Then there are the friends who think I am selfish for not supporting him completely. "How can you feel bitter about what is obviously a once in a lifetime chance to make his life better?" Because our life is pretty damn comfortable right now, and I don't want to have to go back to worrying about whether I can afford medication this month or not. Because as nice as it might be, I don't think I'll find a "better" life there. It would be different, probably eventually as comfortable as we have it here, probably I would figure out the culture, the health care system, the tax laws...

I just don't like the sniff of it. This is the very same company that's been jerking him around for a year, most recently, switching up his hours from week to week, sometimes not telling him when the switch will happen until days before. Two weeks ago, they told him that in 24 hours, he would have an offer, with a salary on it and an expected duration. We still don't know what they are up to. There's this work-study position, at Imperial College, with the expectation that I work towards a PhD in three years. Specifically designed for a non-resident. But if the job is 6 months long? I'm not sure how good I can live in town on 22K pounds/year. Or if I want to be stuck in a place that (no offence, britnoders) I don't really want to live, finishing a difficult degree, alone because his job moved back to the US. Not the mention the fact that I haven't the job or even a call-back yet.

My brain is prancing off with dreams of chucking my job and just going over with him. Busking for bread, investigating the street performance scene and sneaking in some fire performance in back alleys. I've been reading Eliot and lusting for the fog over the Thames.

I think lust is not enough to survive. I'm not even so sure about love.

So, getting to my question, who has advice on transatlantic relationships?

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