Oh boy. I'm still really stung by having been fired. I know, right? duh. Really though, I thought I'd be able to bounce back from this "breakup" a little more easily than this. I mean... last night, whoa, talk about guilty control-freak dreams. It was all about how nothing would work like it was supposed to, because the lightbulb burned out or something and I couldn't open the door to get the new one because the doorknob was too loose and just spun around, and it wouldn't unscrew because the screwheads got stripped and it just so happens that the door is one of the hardwood solid-core doors in that house, you see, so I couldn't even kick it in though I tried anyway and only succeeded in smashing my foot to a bloody pulp which I then tried to salve by taking it to the sink to wash off but the water was dirty and the gauze was all wet because the u-bend under the sink started to leak and..... you get the idea.
A sweet little night of lovenotes from my inner self saying "hey dipshit. you can't do shit. dipshit." ahh. self loathe. Does it ever get old? the answer is yes.
Anyway - so I'm recovering from this little episode of self-flagellation (not flatulation, punks) and all this weekend I've been doing some very relaxing house sitting for my folks. I pillaged the decades-old scrap felt supply and hand sewed myself a ... stuffed monster thing which for reasons I can't explain now have caused me to call it my new Blue Schmegeggle. What. I'm a nerd. Shut up. Anyway, I did the whole thing by hand, with fluffy blue felt and some nice sky blue normal felt and brown bits around the eyes and legs with feet and everything. I have to admit after completing something like that in a weekend... I find I am now fairly overwhelmed with a feeling of "ept-itude" and confidence and the like. Still restless, but "ept".
Which brings me to my main point. I will be going to a "job" tomorrow. I feel rather like La Femme Nikita now - to live my normal life amongst the throngs and yet await the phonecall for "Josephine" bidding me to do various tasks around the city. Will I be planting a bug in the visiting senator's skybox? Will I report to a hotel room, assemble an assault rifle and eighty-six the fat guy in the white suit across the street?
Not quite. Tomorrow is just a simple one-day surgical strike on an excel spreadsheet for which I'll be called upon to unravel a nasty bit of cutting and pasting so as to make the data more useful for a mail merge. *Le Sigh*
But I can't stop grinning as my inner warrior maiden practises her sexy voice and french accented "allo?" It is how I convince myself that this temp thing really is the best way to go for a while. So there we are. I am La Femme Ni-kayjay. I am trained in several of the deadliest microsoft arts and will be called upon at any moment to assasinate projects of top secret confidence involving photocopies, *le gasp* and file naming conventions. *sacre bleu!* Gods Bless Luc Besson for making this crap interesting for me.
Oh don't be surprised that I have an interesting imagination-world. Like you don't grip the wheel a little more tightly every time you hear a James-bond theme on the radio while you commute. Whatev.
Wish me luck at my job tomorrow and if you EVER want to totally freak my shit out... when I answer the phone you can ask for Josephine. You know, like in french: "Zhos-eh-feeen" .