Today I cancelled my US cellphone. I sent out texts to everyone one in my phone-book that I thought would want my new number, shut the phone off, and removed the sim card, never to be used again. It feels a little strange - I had that number for five years, ever since moving to Arizona. It becomes a part of your identity, and so I guess I'm feeling as if I've lost a part of myself. If so, it's a part of myself I won't miss. There is no longer anything 480 319 4096 about me.
Coming back to Scotland has been difficult, both logistically and emotionally, but each passing day makes me more sure it was the right move.
All that's missing is a job.
Sent fae ma HTC PURE™, a Windaes® phone fae AT&T that now bleathers wi' a wee brogue.
The Inn of Infinite Sadness, or alternatively, Smudge and Hobbes' Traumatising Transcendental Transatlantic Trip. Being the adventures of two very large, unwillingly peripatetic, half-Bengal cats and their owner (of rather similar description) as they prepare to leave the North American continent in search of a new life in their (the cats, not the owner) ancestral homeland of Aneda. Sigh, what I won't do for a decent cup of tea.
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