I finally have a bank account.
Huh. The process only took five and a half years.
How did I manage this stunning feat? It would be best not to share details, for fear that someone reading these words is warned off by my immigration woes. Suffice to say that my copious documentation of identity, assets, and fiscal stability were not enough.
I have sufficient funds, letters of reference, and a valid residency permit, but I am self-employed and my address is a boat – albeit one registered to and lawfully moored in council jurisdiction for which I pay council tax – so hey! It was a cash-only existence for me oh these many years.
Sheer bloody minded persistence did the trick in the end, but I promise, if I had known this would be such a huge problem, I might have just stayed home.
But anyway, with my shiny new account I: sent invoices for three years of freelance work, filed and paid taxes in six states and two nations, subscribed to all my favorite magazines, bought a Tate membership, and splashed out on my first ever pair of high heels.
Grownup? Ladylike? Or just foolhardy? Hmmm…
Continuing in grownup mode: I’ll be selling my boat later this spring. Of interest mostly to those who already have mooring sorted.
I’m definitely back on the grid.
I hope all this adult behavior abates in the new year.