Job search: successful. Total time spent updating resume and searching and applying for jobs: less than three hours. God, how depressing. In London it actually takes more effort to remain unemployed than it does to find work. Anyway, I’m only doing a part-time temp job for now – the agency offered to put me up for some long-term contracts, but employment agencies being what they are, basically they were trying to make as much money off me as possible as quickly as possible. “I have lots of PA experience,” I told them, “but ideally I’d like to get into a proofreading or copyediting position.” They nodded understandingly and wrote ‘PA’ on my profile form. Apparently there’s a shortage of qualified PAs at the moment. I think I could have shown up for the interview drunk and they’d still have offered me work. Pimp-ass motherfuckers.
It’s probably for the best that I’ll be getting out of the house. I have officially failed as a domestic goddess. You know that movie with the haunted house where the walls keep oozing blood? That’s what our floors are like, but with dirt. I have washed those damn floors over and over. I have motherfucking scrubbed those motherfucking floors. And within hours they are again coated in a fine epidermis of filth that makes my feet look as though I’ve been moonlighting as a Victorian chimneysweep. I’m starting to get a bit Lady Macbeth about those fucking floors. “What is it?” I howl. “Where does it fucking come from?” SiC thinks it’s coming from the unsealed cracks in the floorboards, but I believe the flat is trying to tell us something. Like, Buy a better mop.
I also continue in my occasional humorous attempts to cook. I made pasta the other day with chillies, ginger and lime, which I thought turned out quite well, except that I forgot to take into account the fact that my husband is English. He had one bite and started to sweat. “How many chillies did you use in this?”
“Um…five?”
“Oh my God.”
He bravely soldiered through the whole meal, despite the searing agony that rendered him unable to speak for about an hour afterwards. Come to think of it, I’m probably going to try that recipe again.