39 days. This summer has actually gone by pretty quickly. I’ve been very busy most weekends, and work keeps me busy enough from 9-5.
I feel much less organized about leaving compared to how exacting and list-making I was last summer. I’ll be getting my visa two days before my flight, and that had better go off without a hitch, otherwise I’ll be facing major fees for changing my flight. I arrive in Grenoble September first, and have an orientation meeting at the university the morning of the second. My apartment fell through, so as of right now I have no housing, though I can crash at T’s parents’ place for awhile.
I’ve been hoarding money. Though I should be okay when I arrive, I have no idea how much my rent and deposit will cost, nor can I know with certainty that I’ll be paid at the end of September, and the exchange rate is testing the limits of suckyness. Someone stole my ipod the other weekend, and I’ve realized the stronghold Steve Jobs has over my eardrums.
So there’s work. Neither good nor bad. The environment in the office itself is really positive, but the fact that I’m working two positions until the new girl arrives Monday has worn me out. I’m not overly motivated to learn the ropes of a position I definitely won’t even be sufficient at before leaving.
How do people keep up their morale for 5, 10, 30 years in an office job? Despite the atmosphere of my workplace, there’s still about four times a day where I want to stop everybody and yell about how futile and self-serving everything is. Perhaps this is the hint that I belong nowhere near any place with fixed windows and a conference room.
My boss bills $350 an hour. So when I write up a letter for him, the firm bills 3 minutes at $17.50. For a letter I wrote. They bill in three minutes what many people don’t make for an hour’s work. For more money than a quarter of the people in the world see in two weeks.
