Now I have to hope to the god that is part of my new official state religion (do I need to have the local vicar over for tea when I move?) that someone over there hires me soon. Amazingly, people want to interview me.
The goal is to get the fuck out of America with my daughter before Trump is inaugurated. No specific plan of where to move, just wherever I get a job. We will move to the Falklands if we have to.
It feels so close now.
Thank you. I’ve been having daily anxiety where I’ve pictured them saying something like, “you fit the criteria just like we’ve said you did all along, but the doctor made an error on your father’s birth certificate and it says he was born in Lonbon, so no UK for you.” It’s like a massive weight has been lifted.