It’s been a tough couple of months. I’ve been a bad wife encore even though I’ve tried to balance this with ironing (ironing, my god, things must be bad) and cooking (ditto).
I’ve failed to take my own advice and get a routine up and running so I’ve made it harder on myself. This means I’ve been struggling with my own broodings. And indulging myself with black thoughts far too often.
I’ve been going through a cycle of trying to hold on to the positive outlook I’ve gained from being away from Europe, failing, getting depressed by Belgium, being amused by how much Belgium is like India, getting frustrated at the job market, getting annoyed by having no money, being very lonely and bored, meeting old friends and loving them, thanking the Gods of the Interweb for Skype and long chats with dear friends in distant climes, having Mr B introduce enforced socialising to get me out of the apart-hotel, and becoming worryingly addicted to Under the Hammer, Charmed and Oprah.
Last week, I took matters back into my own hands and went to an expat wives coffee morning which, it turns out, had the added complication of being a Francophone affair. Quelle horreur!
And, of course, since then, a few things have appeared on the job horizon which is somewhat of a relief.
And Mr B and I LOVE our new home in the ‘hood. Despite the fact one of the streets very close by has been, according to our quartier newsletter, voted one of the worst in Brussels by the Belgian police. On Sunday, on said street, we saw two young guys casually breaking into a car, in broad daylight with the world and his wife walking by.
I’m still struggling with it all. I’m trying to look at it as a new posting rather than thinking we’re “back” here again, if that makes sense. Being surrounded by our own things again has definitely helped a lot (no two ways about it the apart-hotel phase of expat life sucks).
Onwards and upwards.