London calls. But it's not calling me, it's only calling half of this dynamic equilibrium, it's only calling Cwellan. It is calling him over and over, they've been hinting at possibly shipping him out for almost a year. But this time it's real. This time his supervisors are discussing terms and arrangements, offers, shift differentials, moving expenses, temporary work visas. Sponsorship. Cwellan is researching the tax laws, residency requirements, soberly relates to me that there's "not that many chemical engineering jobs." Looking at me with eyes that ask "Isn't it going to be great?" before they drop, not sure if life will be much different for me.
I shouldn't be surprised, I suppose. Every so often when the shift changes, this comes up. Maybe this time they'll really send him. They're late with their offer letter, and my life is just the same as always, except my brain is haywire. My friends keep telling me to stop worrying until he gets the offer. Other friends have told me to "just go, you're only young once!" Fine, I'm young, but I drip heavy with debt. Quitting my job in favor of playing around in London, unregistered and unemployed, doesn't sound too smart. Then there are the friends who think I am selfish for not supporting him completely. "How can you feel bitter about what is obviously a once in a lifetime chance to make his life better?" Because our life is pretty damn comfortable right now, and I don't want to have to go back to worrying about whether I can afford medication this month or not. Because as nice as it might be, I don't think I'll find a "better" life there. It would be different, probably eventually as comfortable as we have it here, probably I would figure out the culture, the health care system, the tax laws...
I just don't like the sniff of it. This is the very same company that's been jerking him around for a year, most recently, switching up his hours from week to week, sometimes not telling him when the switch will happen until days before. Two weeks ago, they told him that in 24 hours, he would have an offer, with a salary on it and an expected duration. We still don't know what they are up to. There's this work-study position, at Imperial College, with the expectation that I work towards a PhD in three years. Specifically designed for a non-resident. But if the job is 6 months long? I'm not sure how good I can live in town on 22K pounds/year. Or if I want to be stuck in a place that (no offence, britnoders) I don't really want to live, finishing a difficult degree, alone because his job moved back to the US. Not the mention the fact that I haven't the job or even a call-back yet.
My brain is prancing off with dreams of chucking my job and just going over with him. Busking for bread, investigating the street performance scene and sneaking in some fire performance in back alleys. I've been reading Eliot and lusting for the fog over the Thames.
I think lust is not enough to survive. I'm not even so sure about love.
So, getting to my question, who has advice on transatlantic relationships?