Irony

So I want to go back to Europe and live in the UK. I went there for a month over christmas and fucking loved it. I am supposedly eligible for a British passport due to one of my parents having being born there. I moved to another, much bigger city in Australia to earn the money I need to go to the UK. Except I don’t know how to fucking drive in this city and don’t know how to get anywhere. The road rules are different, the streets busier, and everywhere I go I need to use a fucking GPS. I was using my phone for the first two weeks, and the GPS signal would cut out moments before a turn. There are cameras everywhere in this city. Speed cameras, red light cameras. Cameras to catch cunts driving incorrectly. So I’m trying to focus hard on not driving incorrectly, whilst looking at the GPS to figure out where the fuck I’m going, and it’s just awful. My knuckles are sore because I’ve been punching the ceiling of my car whenever I take a wrong turn due to not knowing how to fucking drive here.  I punch it three times quickly and with vigour, to prevent myself from screaming in rage. The knuckle pain is surprisingly soothing in the moment Every wrong turn adds 15 – 20 minutes to my trip as I flounder around, not knowing how to get back on track. Eventually pulling over and resetting the stupid fucking GPS that didn’t work in the first place. It makes me feel sick with rage.

The most sickeningly rage-inducing part is the irony of it all. I had to move to this city to earn the money I need to move to the UK. But this city will cost me money in traffic fines. It could possibly cost me my driver’s licence if I fuck up bad enough. I read somewhere that losing your license (which I’ve already done once before, years ago) can affect your chances of living in the UK. Maybe it’s the universe trying to redirect me away from shit, but fuck me. The sickeningly rage-inducing irony.