I’m hoping this doesn’t sound all maudlin, because it’s not, just something I’ve been curious about lately… I’m not sure I believe anyone does anything for the right reasons.
Come to that, I’m not sure there’s such a thing as “right reasons” at all.
Our hero sits in the office, chowing down on a microwaved plastic tub of falafel. The tub is apparently not microwavable, and so has melded itself rather alarmingly around the aromatic balls of chickpea goodness.
‘Clayton’: “I hope I don’t die from the chemicals in the plastic.”
Matthew (Without missing a beat, and in a lovely South African accent): “You know, it doesn’t matter, because you’ll die anyway.”
It’s been a while, so here’s the update. I’ve kind of went underground over the past month or so, what with finals, graduation, moving out of Morgantown for good, Christmas, and preparing for the move to London.
I’ve been in London just short of two weeks now, and am just finishing my second week of work. I got a job doing secretarial/office admin at an immigration adviser’s office. It’s right in central London– right off of Oxford Street. If I walk pretty quickly, I could get to Leicester Square for lunch, or Piccadilly Circus. There are FIVE vegetarian restaraunts within walking distance from my office, that I know of. That makes me so happy, (not to mention broke and putting on weight.)
We’re a small office– my boss is English, and there are two associates– one Australian, and the other South African. The South African guy is also named Matthew, and so in the office they call me by my middle name, Clayton, which makes everything even more disorienting. It’s kind of cool though, as well, because I’ve kind of always secretly wanted to be called Clayton, but people look at you funny if you just up and change your name one day for no apparent reason. One of my friends did just that in junior high school. He started out as Ryan, and for about a year, he demanded everyone call him Bob. (He’s working in Parliament now, but has opted to use his actual name again.)
One of the most surprising things I’ve found over the past two weeks is how utterly useless my university degree really is. Turns out in the real world, they seem to want people with actual real life skills and experience rather than people who occaisionally sound like they might know what they’re talking about when they discuss post-modernism. Who knew?!
I moved in to a flat that’s right around the corner from work– which means I’m spending well more than I should be to live in central London (but no long tube commute!)
Yesterday I had the unsettling realization that I now share a postcode with Madonna. I’m right in the West End, so all London’s theatres are right up the road– and the nightlife isn’t bad, either!
It’s nice to finally have a second to slow down and breathe. And instead of worrying about the big things (finding a job and a place to live) I’ve got time to worry about the little things (finding a surge protector and bedsheets) which is certainly a step in the right direction.
Last night, it snowed in London. It was absolutely magical– it’s pretty rare. The snow dusting Soho Square, and the sliver of a moon hanging down on the old buildings was something to behold. I’m happy to be here. I can hardly believe I’m most of the way through my first month in London– only five left, and so much more to do and see.
Note: A modified version of this was posted to the U92 list.
