I am moving to Madrid next week. I am moving to Madrid next week. I am moving to Madrid. Next. Week. No matter how many times I say it, it still doesn’t feel like reality. And I can assure you, it is absolutely not because I am ready and organised, it is the polar opposite. I am so unorganised and I’m fairly sure, mentally unprepared that it seems there is no possible way that in a weeks time I will be trying to settle down in a city I have never been to and where they speak a language that I can barely put two words together unless its; ‘Sorry, I don’t speak Spanish’.
No matter how many lists I make, I still feel like I am no step closer to being ready for the move. So I have two options, spend my last week trying to research and prepare for every possible thing, or go with easy breezy attitude of ‘I’ll figure it out when I get there’. Well guess which one I’m going to pick.
With an upcoming 50 hours of work, a week on an air bed and a lot of people to see, I think its understandable that doing the mature thing of preparing is not very high on my many, many lists.
Or maybe that is just my justification for the denial stage of my move, that I’m leaving one of my favourite cities and my home for the last three years. Finding a flat in a busy city like Madrid will be hard. Finding a job teaching English at a time when that has become as basic as fake tan, will be harder. But leaving behind my friends and a city that I am not sure will be my home ever again, is definitely the hardest. (If we’re following the stages of grief here, then next up is depression and with a quickly evaporating bank account this will not be feasible!)
Everyone tells me I will have the best time and a change of scenery is always good and I am very well aware of this, I’m just a little chilly as my comfort blanket is taken away from me and I’m out in the big old world with no extra padding.
And instead of facing these realities here I am writing this blog pretending to be Carrie freakin’ Bradshaw.