Douglas Spencer (dougs) wrote,
Douglas Spencer

Prisoner of my history.

I've not been in the best of moods over the last day or so.

Yesterday afternoon, I went to see the boys and girls at Bracknell Magistrates Court, chasing some paperwork I need for my visa application. They tell me that I should be expecting a letter from the court system in Slough in a few days. It's frustratingly slow, and makes it necessary to revisit memories from long ago that I'd sooner leave behind, which the law in England and Wales entitles me to leave behind. This is an entitlement that the US Visa system considers itself above, so that means rehearsing some memories I'd sooner not revisit.

I came home to find an email from Sam, scarlatti's brother and my prospective employer over there, and I had to retell the story of the delays to him in an email. Which made me cross with the lawyers all over again.

And then I went to a Lodge committee meeting at the Secretary's house. Now usually, I'd relax for a half an hour over a coffee with the Secretary and his wife, who happens to be an aunt of mine. However, it transpires that she was being visited by her brother and his wife -- that would be my father and Christine, then. It's not possible for me to be in the same room as Christine without saying what I think, and saying what I think is not an option. I had to slope out of the other exit without any coffee and chat, rehearsing another bunch of memories best forgotten.


It's a mood which has persisted, off and on, for most of the day.

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