From the desk of Sarah Reid

Do you know what today is? It’s an important day… a day I’ve been waiting most expectantly for. Today, I have a routine and nothing else. I don’t have to go grocery shopping. I don’t have to buy things for my flat. I don’t have to go to the bank, make an appointment, or do anything else. Today, I go to work, and then I go home. It is such a welcome change.

I’m at work and so terribly bored. My co-workers think I’m writing an email to someone, but really I’m just typing this, and then I’ll copy and paste it onto my blog when I finish. Sneaky, sneaky me. I am terribly bored, and being bored is certainly more fun in London… but it’s boring all the same. On Monday when I came to work, I had someone ask me to make his guests coffee. Apparently I’m in change of that. And I’m in charge of washing the dishes as well. Not only the cups that I’m not using, but also the plates that all the men use when they eat their lunch. Are thirty year old men incapable of doing dishes? Did they seriously hire me to clean up after them? I’m beginning to suspect this.

That was pretty much it for Monday. I actually got so bored that I voluntarily read a document about AV documentation processes. Desperate times, my friends. J Yesterday I listened to thirty six blank voicemails, found the mystery-Scotch, and wore my hair down so I could sneak-listen to my ipod. Lisa and I think that the Scotch came from the person who had this job before me… maybe it was their one thrill in an eight hour day.

Today I organized two years worth of invoices according to date and stuck them in binders… where has my education taken me?! I just have to keep telling myself that everything is more exciting in London, right? I can do this!

In other (much more exciting) news, Lisa and I now have a pan, some pots (which we assembled with only the help of a butter knife), bedding, and hangers. The Godfather dropped some giant knives by, and we used those to break into our soup cans until we bought a can opener. With the suitcases shoved under the double bed (which we share) and the means to make our own food, our flat is starting to feel like it has potential to be a home. But, every woman in my family taught me that a place to live isn’t a home until it has paint or pictures on the walls. Gah, there are white walls everywhere in my flat! It needs paint… pictures…decorative plants… lamps… flower arrangements… so many things I can’t supply. Oh gosh, the strength of my nesting instincts is a little ridiculous.

I should end this now… the “email” that I’ve been writing is starting to look suspect, and I don’t want to get in trouble yet. Oh! But one thing I have to tell you. Today, the phone rang, and some poor BUNAC person called asking if the administrative position was filled. I got a smug little smile on my face, and graciously (I hope) said that it was filled. BY ME! Woo! I didn’t say that last part… but I thought it.