Back from the brink

When things go well for me, they fly, but when they go bad, it's pretty bad. For anyone out there wondering where I have been for the last million years or so, the simple explanation is that I've been ill. Being ill gives a person a lot of time to think and I've been having mini crises day in day out, one of them was should I grow up and get a permanent job, but I then realised that I didn't really know what it was I wanted to do. So this means that although previously I saw temping as a way of life, it's now something to do while I think about what I want to do. Got me? No I'm not convinced either.

Having been off ill for quite a while, starting back on my first assignment was a weird experience. Like a leader who's been exiled, it was weird coming into a office and re-familiarising myself with all the tools of my trade. I took my place behind my desk as if getting back on a horse after a nasty fall. My new boss had clearly been briefed that I'd been out of the game in a while and explained everything very slowly as if teaching a child how to go to the toilet. I sat impassively as she explained every last button on a phone I've used at hundreds of different jobs before. Why complain? If she wants to waste her time teaching an old dog like me new tricks then so be it.

My new job is at a publishing house. They publish magazines, but believe me, Ugly Betty this is not. The publishing house distributes mags about angling, caving, and bat watching (possibly). Basically, it's a load of sports that you know people do but have never met anyone who actually does it. There's also the odd knitting title and lots of baking magazines. The only up side is my boyfriend's thrilled with the amount of new recipes I'm brining home. I don't cook them, he just likes to read them and imagine what he could eating if I wasn't such a lazy cow. So I've been her for two weeks almost and so far, so same old same old. It's a busy reception, with lots of stupid enquiries about subscriptions, article submissions and all manner of fraught housewives desperately searching for recipes for pastry. I have a cohort to help me with reception and wonder upon wonder it's a man! Well, a boy. He's called Jeff and is about 19. He's also a general dogsbody for just about anyone but is here to help if I need it. His first conversation with me entailed him telling me not to bother asking him to make a cup of tea because he'd "only do it wrong". I pointed out that I would just keep sending him back until he got it right and that I had all the time in the world. Either that or he could get his arse top Starbucks, his choice. Whether he admired me or thought I was a bitch I've no idea and he'll probably spit, piss AND wank into my tea, but at least I get to stay seated.

There's lots, lots more to tell but my wrists are aching and Jeffrey has been taking an awful long time in the kitchen...