Surviving
Well, I've figured out that if I get no work this week I can survive for the next two on what's in my bank account plus what's going in from last week, even after paying rent and bills. That's a relief, that is. Makes the niggly careful budgeting of the past few weeks worth it. No end in sight to the overstuffed fridge and twice weekly cooking binges!
Pricoa Relocation, last week, turned out to be quite a sweet little gig. I was helping a woman named Lori who has broken her hand, so basically I was just doing all her computer work for her. She'd dictate emails to me or have me audiotype as she had telephone conversations with me listening in on a headset, etc, etc. I'm not exactly sure what her department is called -- management, perhaps -- but she oversees everything that happens with people moving from overseas to the UK. Mostly from the States. And from really big companies -- Pfizer, Prudential, Nortel, American Express, Mastercard. She liaises with the home finding and school finding teams, the "assignees" (people who are moving) HR reps at the companies, and estate agencies and basically makes sure that everything that's supposed to be happening, happens. Her colleague across the desk was named Sarah, a really sweet girl about my age so spectacularly beautiful I was a bit gobsmacked when she proved herself really, really nice as well, leaning across the desk to whisper to me when Lori went for lunch "Are you looking for permanent work? We really need a third person here, we're so overworked! And Lori's already told me she LOVES you!"
So, interesting work, nice people. Too bad about the two hour commute. Ye gads. But honestly it had me about ready to kill myself by the end of the week. I slumped in every night at eight, turned on Friends or Big Brother and switched off completely. It seemed to worry Justin, as he asked me on Wednesday if I was pissed off about his half-sister Sarah-Jane's ongoing presence (about two months now). He said he thought he should cut me some kind of rebate -- his idea was to excuse me from the just-over-one-hundred pounds worth of bills that had come in over the past month or so. I said no several times and finally said that as I'm poor, I'm not going to say no forever, but I'd rather we coached it as Sarah-Jane being the excuse to let me off the bills, rather than me needing a rebate for putting up with her. A few days of thinking and mad budgeting later, I think I'll speak to him and say I'll pay the bills anyway.
I stayed over at Night's on Thursday night and savoured the bliss of rolling out of bed (well, off Night's couch, in actual fact, but why split hairs? It was soft and I slept thereon for seven hours!) at seven thirty when I'd been leaving the house at seven every other day that week.
Lori's hand will take at least a couple more weeks to heal, and she wants me back, but the rub is she's on holiday this week, and despite her protestations, the HR department felt that they couldn't justify my being there in her absence as I wouldn't be able to do as much. So I've got Pricoa for next week if nothing else, but my agencies are drawing blanks for this week. Sigh. Someone may call up with a one, two, three or four day gig. But they might not.
Make like a squirrel, Bron... HOARDE!
Pricoa Relocation, last week, turned out to be quite a sweet little gig. I was helping a woman named Lori who has broken her hand, so basically I was just doing all her computer work for her. She'd dictate emails to me or have me audiotype as she had telephone conversations with me listening in on a headset, etc, etc. I'm not exactly sure what her department is called -- management, perhaps -- but she oversees everything that happens with people moving from overseas to the UK. Mostly from the States. And from really big companies -- Pfizer, Prudential, Nortel, American Express, Mastercard. She liaises with the home finding and school finding teams, the "assignees" (people who are moving) HR reps at the companies, and estate agencies and basically makes sure that everything that's supposed to be happening, happens. Her colleague across the desk was named Sarah, a really sweet girl about my age so spectacularly beautiful I was a bit gobsmacked when she proved herself really, really nice as well, leaning across the desk to whisper to me when Lori went for lunch "Are you looking for permanent work? We really need a third person here, we're so overworked! And Lori's already told me she LOVES you!"
So, interesting work, nice people. Too bad about the two hour commute. Ye gads. But honestly it had me about ready to kill myself by the end of the week. I slumped in every night at eight, turned on Friends or Big Brother and switched off completely. It seemed to worry Justin, as he asked me on Wednesday if I was pissed off about his half-sister Sarah-Jane's ongoing presence (about two months now). He said he thought he should cut me some kind of rebate -- his idea was to excuse me from the just-over-one-hundred pounds worth of bills that had come in over the past month or so. I said no several times and finally said that as I'm poor, I'm not going to say no forever, but I'd rather we coached it as Sarah-Jane being the excuse to let me off the bills, rather than me needing a rebate for putting up with her. A few days of thinking and mad budgeting later, I think I'll speak to him and say I'll pay the bills anyway.
I stayed over at Night's on Thursday night and savoured the bliss of rolling out of bed (well, off Night's couch, in actual fact, but why split hairs? It was soft and I slept thereon for seven hours!) at seven thirty when I'd been leaving the house at seven every other day that week.
Lori's hand will take at least a couple more weeks to heal, and she wants me back, but the rub is she's on holiday this week, and despite her protestations, the HR department felt that they couldn't justify my being there in her absence as I wouldn't be able to do as much. So I've got Pricoa for next week if nothing else, but my agencies are drawing blanks for this week. Sigh. Someone may call up with a one, two, three or four day gig. But they might not.
Make like a squirrel, Bron... HOARDE!