Here it comes. Here it comes. Here it comes. God help me.
The jetlag is starting to fade, and The Fact That I Don't Live In London is rising up and sticking like a knife in particularly inconvenient parts of my body.
God bless EnCoCa, and the sheer necessity of devoting every ounce of my brainpower to its development. Except for these last few moments before the day ends, my new career simply does not allow me to dwell on things that make me sad.
My brain, of course, plays along by attempting to deflect the stinging rays of Missing London Syndrome by throwing other little pieces of misery in its path. So now, along with the ugly truth that I live in a country that has far too much snow for anyone's use, where meal servings are needlessly large, and where 3 out of 10 people are dressed like craft show evacuees, I'm also dealing with Everything Else of Little Importance That I Like To Focus on From Time to Time When I'm Sad and Whingey. Ok? Ok? Because, hello! In London, my arse looked better! And in Lon-don, I'm somehow irresistible to anything with hangy bits. And in London, a Very Bad Bit of Snow lasts 36 hours, where it then fades to nothing more than an interesting memory.
It is very difficult to believe that anyone is entrusting me with the title Managing Director. However, I consider self-awareness a very good quality to have, don't you?
0 comments so far