Tick, tick, tick...
It has been made apparent to me that I have to be out of Fen House by March 1.
Gee, I wish I could convince the people I'm working for to *hire* me before then. Because, y'know, then I'd have a steady salary that would be sufficient to allow me to shell out the huge wad of cash that renting a new apartment would entail. I can't take out a loan because my credit sucks, I can't ask my mom for money because she has none.
It isn't as though I haven't told the people at Gattaca law farm that I'm sleeping on an air mattress in a cupboard and depending on the slowly fraying good will of those I live with. In theory, the other lawyer who Dead Secretary supported will be back from maternity leave on Tuesday, and then she and Lawyer #1 can decide whether to keep me or kick me back into the floater pool. Either way, I hope to soon have some idea of exactly what the fuck is going to go on at work. I'd like to stay at Gattaca, the people here are actually kinda nice (knock wood) and the infrastructure I need to do my job is first class. But if I have to start looking again, I will.
And, y'know, it isn't as though I don't have CATS who are also being looked after out of the charity of someone's heart, which charity is also fraying, I am sure. It isn't as though I don't think of them every fucking day and worry about getting them back. It isn't as though everything I own isn't in storage. It isn't as though I'm planning on staying here indefinitely. I've already been here far longer than I expected to. I've definitely been here far longer than the Fen House residents expected me to.
I want my own place. I want my cats. I want a bed. I want my own kitchen. I want to be able to have a long, leisurely wank, all right?
This has been a State of the Arachnid update. We now return you to your LJ in progress.
Gee, I wish I could convince the people I'm working for to *hire* me before then. Because, y'know, then I'd have a steady salary that would be sufficient to allow me to shell out the huge wad of cash that renting a new apartment would entail. I can't take out a loan because my credit sucks, I can't ask my mom for money because she has none.
It isn't as though I haven't told the people at Gattaca law farm that I'm sleeping on an air mattress in a cupboard and depending on the slowly fraying good will of those I live with. In theory, the other lawyer who Dead Secretary supported will be back from maternity leave on Tuesday, and then she and Lawyer #1 can decide whether to keep me or kick me back into the floater pool. Either way, I hope to soon have some idea of exactly what the fuck is going to go on at work. I'd like to stay at Gattaca, the people here are actually kinda nice (knock wood) and the infrastructure I need to do my job is first class. But if I have to start looking again, I will.
And, y'know, it isn't as though I don't have CATS who are also being looked after out of the charity of someone's heart, which charity is also fraying, I am sure. It isn't as though I don't think of them every fucking day and worry about getting them back. It isn't as though everything I own isn't in storage. It isn't as though I'm planning on staying here indefinitely. I've already been here far longer than I expected to. I've definitely been here far longer than the Fen House residents expected me to.
I want my own place. I want my cats. I want a bed. I want my own kitchen. I want to be able to have a long, leisurely wank, all right?
This has been a State of the Arachnid update. We now return you to your LJ in progress.