The Other Side of Panic

This afternoon, I panicked so much about my visa that I actually went through the panic barrier to the other side of panic, which is kind of like an insanely happy place where the grass is purple and the sky is green and I am totally insane.
As a teenager, did anyone else ever have those mammoth phone conversations which would go, like, SO late into the night (like, 11pm or MIDNIGHT) and you would get tired, but you still hadn’t solved the problems of the universe (or finished talking about the guys you liked), so you would keep talking, and then, eventually, you would get so tired you actually didn’t feel tired anymore, you actually felt perfectly normal except for the fact that absolutely everything was suddenly really, really, REALLY funny for no reason whatsoever? You’d look down and realise that you were no longer sitting in your chair, but lying on the ground with your legs up in the air and giggling at your bare toes. It was a strange, exhilarating feeling.
Well, that’s what it got like today. I was finally called up and told there was no way I was getting an extension on my Irish visa (which I expected and was already starting to plan for), when suddenly someone threw in the possibility of getting a performer’s visa for the Midsummer Festival, which, at first seemed the perfect solution, until I looked into it further and realised I was supposed to apply from my home country (yet AGAIN) and it took 6 – 8 weeks to process, oh, and, of course, they needed my passport to organise it. All of which was slightly impossible at this late stage of the game. Even though I had, before this, resigned myself to the idea that I would have to leave Ireland on Friday, I suddenly became majorly frantic attempting to fit myself into this performer’s visa. I had to physically prevent myself from pulling out my hair. Eventually, we sent off a quick inquiry to see if the visa could be arranged urgently.
In the meantime, I decided that I should get a move on with packing and cleaning, in case Friday actually was the last day I would be in Ireland and that I would either need to take everything with me, or, at least, have it all packed up so that my housemate could send it on to me once I figured out exactly where I was going next.
And it was at that point that I went to the Other Side of Panic. There was something about throwing out all the junk that I have accumulated that suddenly put my in an amazing mood (is this what people feel like when they clean things? Is that what people do it for?) Maybe it was the feeling of moving on. Maybe it was the feeling of something finally being decided (even if it wasn’t the outcome that I was hoping for). Maybe it was the feeling of adventure again – who knows what’s around the corner (or, indeed, Pocahontas, what’s around the river bend?)
Who knows. I started to feel better.
I had a fabulous indie music mix on thanks to 8 tracks (check them out – and for my exact, Other Side of Panic mix, check out – www. ) and was dancing around my room trying to decide whether or not I really needed to keep my Ireland Lonely Planet or if I could safely give it to the charity store around the corner (its going to the charity store). Then, attempting to sort through my clothes – to decide which ones were now too big (there were a couple – HOORAY), which ones fit me now, which ones may fit me in a few weeks and which ones I have always hated and will continue to hate for the rest of my/their existence and I can’t understand why I bought them in the first place – I ended up trying on all of the clothes and having some sort of demented dancing, fashion parade from my room to where the mirror is located in the bathroom. Down the corridor, down the stairs, ooh, up the stairs, the bathroom mirror is upstairs, that’s right, keep on dancing, don’t slip or trip up and land yourself in hospital (though there’s a potential way of staying in the country…. JOKES, JOKES… I’m not considering it, Irish visa official, I swear). All things considered, I was in a mad mood. I was having a great time.
There may have also been half-dressed dancing in socks.
You needn’t picture that. 
The lesson here is that no situation is so stressful and awful that it cannot be distracted from by a little musical interlude a la Risky Business:

I even managed to get up and stay away from my computer for whole minutes at a time. I didn’t manage this at all on Friday until it was close of business and I was absolutely certain that no email from the British Embassy could possibly be coming for me. I spent the entire hours of 9 – 5 in my pj’s, in bed, watching ‘Spooks’ on Netflix and bawling my eyes out when Adam Carter died. (Was it because he died, or was it because of the visa situation? Who knows). Oddly enough, today the good mood was reversed. I stayed maniacally happy until 4:50pm, when I then closed the computer, went downstairs and made myself dinner, refusing to let myself look at the computer screen again until 6pm and hoping against hope that some kind British embassy official had sent me an email in the last 10 minutes of their day. 
Of course they hadn’t. 
And then my mood crashed and all the panic came back.
I now have tomorrow, possibly Wednesday and maybe the morning of Thursday (depending on how brave I’m feeling) to wait for the visa outcome before I have to ‘pull the plug’, so to speak and get my passport back so I can leave the country on Friday and not get the red mark stamped inside it which says I overstayed my visa and I am therefore a terrible human being who should not be trusted with another visa and may not even be able to travel to places that I don’t need a visa for in case I should get the ‘overstaying’ urge and just go on the run in Canada or something. 
To make things worse, a friend in the UK has sent me the details for the mot amazing job, I may go so far as to say my DREAM UK job and I don’t think its a good idea to apply for it without my visa being approved (she has suggested getting the job and then getting a sponsored work visa, but I’m not sure if this would work… I have no proof of that of course, but the way my luck is going… I suspect it would be a case of… MORE BLOODY VISAS).
Its just salt in the bloody wound of the visa application process, basically. One half of me (the stupid, optimistic half) says, ‘Oh, the world wouldn’t let that job be advertised without you getting the opportunity to apply for it. You’ll definitely get the visa.’ Tra-la-la-la-la, have a lollipop and the world is just unicorns and roses. The other half (the half that curls up scowling in the corner of my brain, hiding from the light, smelling bad and spitting at things) says, ‘Well, of course that would happen. That’s what life’s like. You’ll definitely NOT get the visa now, just to prove how stupid you were for not getting all the visas organised earlier.’
Anyway, I’m trying not to think about it much. Which is clearly not working, as this is only the third post I’ve written on the subject in a week and a half.

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Filed under Introspection, Ireland, UK

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