So, on a facetious New Year change-my-life whim, I applied for a job to work on the Continent with one of the major tour operators, as an adminstrator and translator. I'm fluent in French, passable in Business French, conversational Spanish and basic Greek, as well as learning Italian and German, and my colleagues keep asking why on earth I work in this city, with a small French population, a decent Spanish population and very rarely the chance to ask anything more than a person's prenom or date de naissance. And I check my mail today, and they want me to attend an interview in Leeds at the end of January.
Why do I get myself into these stupid make-a-choice situations, when I'm the world's biggest procrastinator? More specifically, why did I do this when I'm quite settled, thank you, and upheaval will be fun in the sunny silliness of summer, but not so fun in the cold reality of winter?
I swear, it's like I'm governed by two extremes. One's devil-may-care, and one part of me just wants me to stay snug in this job forever. And supposing I do go for it, am I prepared for the risks? No! I hate risks, but, conversely, I love adventure. And yet I'm already thinking about how I'll push the opportunity to work in France again, or maybe argue that I know the Ionian islands like the back of my hand and should just be there permanently.
Do do do.