I have to reapply for my visa soon and I’m not looking forward to it. The good news is that this time I’m eligible for a permanent residence visa which means I won’t ever have to do this stupid bureaucratic errand ever again. I realize that in comparison to what immigrants in the United States have to go through, this is small peanuts, but it’s not “fun”.
Last year, I completed my visa during the worst part of my all-day-sickness. I still looked emaciated from non-stop vomiting and not at all pregnant, so I had to wait in all the long lines, while watching enviously as the women with legit babies wrapped tight like little mummies got bumped to the front of the line. The hormones didn’t help when at one point, the government worker couldn’t understand my address and made me write it out for her while insisting that she didn’t speak French. Great–last time I checked, I didn’t either.
I’ve been dragging my feet because I know it means I’ll have to haul Squeaker (who is incredibly fortunate to already be a dual citizen, although she doesn’t know it yet), and her mountains of crap to different offices around the city in the blazing, ozone-less sun. Except, maybe I’ll get the same line-jump treatment like those women last year. Would it be presumptuous to assume so? In that case, bring it on! Sort of…
These errands (well, and the cat calls that are strangely silent since I’ve been carrying Squeaker everywhere) are my least favorite part about living abroad.
I’m writing this to hold myself accountable and actually get it done. Wish me luck. I’m going to try and have a positive attitude. Really.