NIE TIE Sexy Flu: the Covid months, pt. 7

I have a mild dose of the flu after getting the jab this week. I figure that, combined with COVID antibodies, my superpowers should be kicking in right…about…now. I’m really stoked to see what I have. Eye lasers? Would love those. Invisibility? Could be fun. Ability to leap tall buildings in a single bound? Meh. Knowing my luck, it’ll just be a very slightly enhanced ability to underwhelm. Probably. Underwhelm, but in a cape. obvs.

While I’ve been eagerly awaiting my powers to reveal themselves, I’ve also been languishing in the notion that the Spanish government had granted us the right to remain and languishing in the notion that they said our current residence card, the NIE, will continue to be valid until such time we decide to change it to the TIE. Of course, I don’t know anyone who isn’t mildly irritated by bureaucracy, but I find it massively overwhelming, so the languishing and lack of urgency suited me… until I read a Twitter thread that explained that none of the above was strictly the case. There’s a deadline. Of course there is. I hadn’t bothered to check.

Cue sleepless nights, panic Spanish blindness (an inability to understand anything I am reading due to the buzzing in my brain and palpitations in my chest), hot flushes and panic attacks. The end of November is here and I am frantically organising all the paperwork and the appointment to get said card in a global pandemic with reduced dates and times available and printers closed so no access to the paperwork to take with me. And Christmas is coming.

Fuck me and my laurel resting. Really.

In amongst the superpowers speculation and mild meltdowns, dating has well and truly ground to a halt. It got to the point where the only remaining options were abject lunatics or ghosts.

The ‘shall I come round right now?!’ guys, ‘…or you could come HERE!!’. Umm, no thanks murdery Joe. And the guy who makes you question if they were actually real or an apparition, because they disappear for weeks after the initial sighting, only revealing themselves when they haunt your WhatsApp every couple of weeks, thinking that’s enough to get them laid.

The last phone number has been dated, the most interesting (funny and sexy) guy I’ve chatted to in months. Maybe years. Maybe *decades. And even though it was great fun, honestly – apathy was the only vibe I got from him. And that, my friends, is a big ol’ kick in the slats ego. Let me tell you. The ‘couldn’t give a flying fuck’ guy. Seriously, what’s a girl got to do to make an impact? Seriously, I’m asking.

As time ticks on and nothing transpires from any dating endeavour, I am honestly beginning to believe that men are scared of words and love. (This might be the title of the novel I’ll never write.) On a serious note though, I sincerely hope we never have to go to war again – you know, with like, actual bullets and bombs and stuff that can really kill you dead – coz I got news for ya people, we got problems if we do.

So what’s next in the longest year that never was? Well, the bars and restaurants are opening again on Monday so I expect I’ll be gorging myself on food and booze until such time it all shuts down again. (Reader, I won’t).

But, the light is beautiful right now as the nights draw in and the temperature drops, my little adventures up hills are keeping me out of trouble, for the most part, I’ve been to a couple of great exhibitions and my furry partner in crime is getting snuggly for hibernation season. And I want to paint. Man, do I want to paint. The need for that is almost as deep as my urgent need for hugs.

Let’s see what lands on the canvas. Could be interesting.

*Relax. This is a humour blog. I exaggerate and elaborate. ^insert wink gif here^

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