the time i almost got deported

So here's a breakdown of events in the last 4 days:

After bidding Davenport goodbye, I arrived in Quebec Monday night. There were a few flight delays and a little bit of hauling-all-kinds-of-ass to make my connection, but everything turned out fine... before I landed, anyway. Once in Canada, I had to wait in line for an hour for an interview with immigration, and finally talked to someone at 11pm.

I found out in the first 5 minutes of my interview that although my preceptorship is "unpaid," I need a work visa (which I did not have) or I will have to go back to the US (which I did not want to do). The next three months of my life flashed before my eyes: I live with my parents in Pearland, TX and am forced to work at Starbucks to earn enough to pay my bills. No, wait... if I can't precept, in order to graduate, I'd have to go back to Palmer. So in my head I am now homeless in Davenport, wandering about with no patients, no staff doctor, more importantly NO PLACE TO LIVE, and am sad and bored and wishing I was in Quebec as just a week prior (to this fantastic nightmare), I was all, "Iowa, DONE. Next?!" and was so ready to leave the midwest and so I decide that suicide or dropping out of school and moving to another city are my only viable options.

Twenty minutes later (which were spent sitting in front of the stoic immigration lady, wringing my hands, and contemplating death-by-boredom in my near future), I found out that I don't need a work visa, but do need a letter from the Ordre des Chiropraticiens du Quebec saying it's ok for me to learn in their country. And that I'm not stealing any jobs from able-bodied French Canadians. I am scheduled for a meeting next Wednesday, where I must present this letter, and some other documents. Failure to procure said letter will result in my deportment... hands still wringing! Failure to show up at said meeting will result in a warrant for my arrest throughout all of Canada... oh shit, oh sh-- wait. Huh. I actually find this rather exciting. It would be sorta fun to be an outlaw in a foreign country. I've always wanted to be wanted (by the law)! [Side Note: Shortly after these developments, I was termed 'Smooth Criminal' by a friend and immediately decided I'd like that to be my next nickname. I also realized that this is as close to 'thug' as I've ever been in life. So I concluded that I never have to say I'm sorry, ever again.]

I failed to mention that in addition to all of this, my bags did not make it on my flight. It wasn't too big of a deal, since I could borrow Michele's clothes for my first day at work. But she didn't have any extra hats or gloves, so that first day I froze my little tush off. The doctor we're working for was making fun of me for being cold in the office. He thought it was 90 degrees in TX this time of year. I politely set him straight.

So anyway, after the whole immigration mess on Monday, Michele and I finally got home after midnight, where for the first time, I saw THE apartment, our little piece of heaven. Seriously, there was that sunlight-peeking-through-parting-clouds scene and the soundtrack of angels singing from above as we stepped inside. The place we'll be living in for the following three months is absolutely wonderful. Other than the fact that it was decorated by a 60-year-old priest (Michele had already taken down the especially creepy religious figurines, and we are tolerating the plaid wallpaper rather nicely), this place is the bomb. It's two levels, with track lighting and wood floors throughout, the most awesome bathroom I could hope for (I don't know how I survived four snowy winters without heated tiles... my feet have never been happier), and a pretty incredible view of the villages below. It's beautiful, and I'm so pleased to be able to call it home.

Unfortunately, any lusty thoughts of making out with my sublet were rudely interrupted by two days of waking at 6am and working until almost 9pm, and both of us began hoping to bejesus we aren't going to be miserable, crumpled little masses of exhaustion for the entirety of our stay here. Luckily, yesterday we found out that we should be getting Friday afternoons off, and that we're gonna be A-OK on the money front. Of course, at this point, I feel as though I am in way over my head (as in what WTF was I thinking taking a preceptorship in a non-English-speaking country??) and a little bit like I'm drowning in a linguistic pool the size of France. Or Texas, which is bigger. I also am learning to despise Bio-Freeze. After using it to do some muscle work on some of the patients, my hands are fucking bio-frozen. That shit doesn't go away. It's like skunk funk in cat fur. Although I doubt washing my hands with tomato juice will warm them up.

Soooo... I still don't have a passport, but I do have a plan. All the kinks should be worked out shortly, and until then, I can at least enjoy entertaining Michele's family at fabulous chez nous and checking out the perks of Quebec City, incuding visiting the many, many chocolate/candy stores, cafes, and grocery stores - watch out, Whole Foods, because now you've got some competition for top spot in my heart.