Excuse me while I dig out the butter churn.

So I had my interview yesterday. It went well, I think... it's always hard to know, but I felt pretty good about it. I spent 30 minutes with my prospective manager and each of three team members, for a total of two hours. Pretty intense, but I feel like I got a really good picture of what the job will entail and how the team functions. I have no idea what the process is from here (which is my fault: I had the chance to ask but spaced - blame the remnants of jet lag), so I don't know when I'll hear or if I'd need to go through another interview first. I'll keep you posted, anyway.

I've also been working for the last couple of days at a family friend's non-profit. It's pretty straight admin, but it's got me out of the house, which is good for me, and the people that work there are super-nice. More than anything I'm just trying to keep busy so that I can get over my jet lag and not sink into the blahs.

It's very weird to think that I've been back less than a week. I really don't know what to make of it. I'm not mourning as hard as I expected (in large part due to the keeping busy, I'm sure), but I'm afraid it's just denial: when I do think about it I feel like I've been hit in the back by a wave, so I'm trying very hard not to think about it. That's not going to work in the long run but I feel like I'll be in better shape to deal with it when I have a job and more structure in my life, so if I can continue to put it off until then, I will.

We appear to be in the middle of a black-out. Huh.

The weather's been... eh. The first few days were cool but lovely and sunny, but since Thursday it's been grey and rainy and quite cold at night. On the other hand, I noticed buds on a lot of trees and bushes the other day, and that fills me with hope. As I've mentioned to a number of people, it's been seven years since I saw Boston in a season other than winter, and I've entirely forgotten what it looks like when it isn't dead. I got a bit of a reminder when in Pentimento [Note to non-Inner West types: hyper-trendy books-n-things shop; the type of place that has a signature scent that they pump through the air vents] with Bex: there was a map book of Boston and I was showing her some photos, and she noted with surprise how green the city was. I agreed, with at least as much surprise: it is green, extraordinarily green, but I can't envision it at all. Like, my Dad mentioned the magnolia trees all along Comm. Ave., and I had no idea what he was talking about. Blank in my head. It'll be a nice surprise, I think.

News flash: we are in the middle of a black-out, and we had one last night as well (but I was out so I didn’t know). Apparently I now live in the Blitz.

Okay, so it’s now an hour and a half later and we STILL don’t have electricity. I’ve finished my book (Dominic Knight’s Disco Boy, which I can heartily recommend as a light-but-fun read in the early Nick Earls vein), and I am now bored and want the effing Internet back. Also, I’m hungry and I want pizza in bed, and here’s a thing: when I’m living in my own place I have no compunction about ordering delivery and stuffing my face while under the doona – in fact, I consider that to be one of the great joys of modern life – but being at home with my parents really puts me off that idea. Not sure why, but I think it’s related to the panic they go into when they see me ordering delivery (‘I’d have made you something! I’d have run out and picked it up! I’d have taken you somewhere!’). What they don’t seem to understand is that if I’d wanted homemade food I’d have cooked it myself, and if I’d wanted to go out somewhere I’d have gone out. If I order delivery it’s because I want to stay in my pajamas and not face the outside world. It’s a valid choice, not a desperate last straw. And it’s not that I don’t appreciate their concern and good intentions, but: 32 years old. I don’t need to be looked after or coddled or paid for or whatever; I am functional and competent and have lived on my own in another fucking country for several years now. I can manage. I just need somewhere to stay until I have my shit together.

But that’s a discussion (rant) for a whole other post, or possibly therapy session. In the meantime it’s simply a disinclination to take advantage of one of urban America’s greatest achievements, the no-minimum delivery policy. Shame.

XOXO

Link du jour: Do you know who Constance McMillen is? If you don't, find out now and do something to support her.