Leaving New York

Today, the Boy casually sent an email saying that his boss needs to have a think about whether we'll be allowed to stay for another year. On the face of it, it wasn't a big deal. We always knew that we were here for a year initially and that it was subjective to review.

However, everyone has made it seem that it's a given that we'll be here for two. So the thought that we might have to leave in April just freaked me out. I couldn't get hold of the Boy and he wasn't replying to my emails. I got myself more and more worked up.

I have unfinished business in New York. There is still so much to see and do. And we've spent so much money that going home would put another dent into our account. If I go home in April, I'll be jobless, as my work have planned on me being here for two years. I would go home to no job whilst my post here would be filled by another willing individual with the right to work in the US. I won't because I'm dependent on the Boy. It's practically Christmas and pretty soon it'll be the New Year, by which point, we'll pretty much have to start getting our stuff sorted to move back to the UK. All these thoughts were streaming through my head.

When I finally got hold of the Boy and he was trying to placate me, he set the tears streaming with fatal words, 'I know you feel like you don't have any control...'

No, it's not that. It's more. 'I don't have a choice, even though it's my life. Your boss is deciding what happens in my life.'

I'm settled, way happier, enjoying my American life. And yet, today, I had those same emotions as I had when I was standing at the Social Security Office, crying my eyes out when they refused to give me a number. Life can be tough as an expat.