He's gone.

Ok, it's now official. He's moved to Saudi.

For the past three months, we had nothing.. nada.... to hang our hats on. While all this talk of "moving to Saudi" has been the focus for us, the reality has been that nothing's been in writing.. in reality we hadn't actually had a "real" job.

The contract was signed was dependant upon the visa, which was dependant upon the medical which was dependant on the whims and vagaries of the Saudi Consulate... which at one stage rejected the visa..

On the grounds that their own paperwork was out-of-date.

And while he's in the air, winging his way to Dubai, we're still far from home and hosed.

His actual employment.. that thing he does that will earn us money.. will be dependant on FURTHER "requirement" being met once he hits the ground in Riyadh.

The issuing of his iqama.

Everything hinges on that.

So, while I dropped him off at the airport last night, and we're all full of the hope and possibility of this new life.. we do have a small way to go yet before he is officially "employed"

Still, that meant nawt last night when I had to do the kerbside drop, knowing it could be MONTHS before I see him again.

And in true Instant Kharma fashion, I turned on the radio to cover my sobbing on the way home.

Did I get "Bohemian Rhapsody"?

Did I get "Tainted Love"?

Did I "Too Drunk to F**CK", or some other uplifting, quirky and funky mindless 80's one hit wonder to whom I could have sung away my tears?

No.

My drive home playlist consisted of:

Lou Reed's "Dirty Boulevard" ("fly, fly away...")
Hunter's and Collectors "When the Rivers Run Dry" ("You got nothin' but your soul to sell, you got nothin')
Foo Fighters "Next Year" (pretty much the whole damn song")
Nickleback "Far AwaY" ("I keep dreaming that you'll be with me and you'll never go")

I swear I was waiting for REM's "Everybody Hurts" to come on and suck my soul dry.

"Nothing Compares 2U" would have made me punch myself in the throat.

So, today, I sit at work, with eyes like a sad panda with hay fever AND conjunctivitis, counting down the minutes until he lands and we can skype. I'm like a 16 year old waiting for the phone to ring.

If I start doodling  hearts over my i's and writing "Mrs Lee 4 evah" in cursive script on my pencil case, you have my permission to kill me.