Checking the mail every day was torturous.
I couldn't concentrate on my job; a couple of times I left in the middle of the day because, really, what was the point of sitting at my desk and wondering about the mail? But then I would check the mail and there would be no letter and the anxiety would start all over. Friday I went out with friends and got home late. Finally, the letter was there, slid under my door by the thoughtful neighbor who noticed the postmark (Zurich??). It was too late to call anyone with the good news.
And then I couldn’t bring myself to tell anyone. I had to think about it for a while. Read the letter over and over. I thought about telling my close friends that I didn’t get in. Chickening out. Staying here for another year, remaining not entirely fulfilled, already at the ceiling of my job, becoming more provincial by the minute.
It isn’t really an option.
So I’m kind of just getting around to telling people.
I’m moving to London.
I think. I mean, I haven't officially accepted the offer yet.
But I plan to.
I've already started telling people.