Continuing to live the dream, ish.

Today, I was sitting in my room with the Boyfriend. There we sat, working our way through each series of Entourage, when eventually the daily question of

"What do you want to do today?"

came up. That was followed by the familiar answer of,

"Dunno."

Without dogs to walk (the Mother has returned from her Northern trip, thus relieving me of those particular duties), or money to spend (a trip to the cinema last night took care of that. Odeon, you thieving bastards) and crucially, without jobs, one might say that we were at two, rather lazy, loose ends.

So I took him home. We separated with good intentions. "I shall work on my CV!" we cried in unison, "Then we can get jobs!"

Instead, I drove home and ate pita bread with hummus. Then I went on Twitter. Then I remembered my CV was on my old laptop, brought that downstairs, realised that it's a huge, clunky machine which still makes the most infuriating, random clicking sound for no reason I can fathom, other than to piss me right off, and shut the lid.

Back on my trusty pint sized netbook, void of anything remotely useful unless masochistic beach photos are your bag, I began a futile job search. Futile because not only was I lacking a CV, but I didn't actually know what job I was looking for anyway. What with banning myself from getting a cosy admin job and everything, I've inadvertantly left myself rather few options.

"Let's start at the beginning" thought I, "imagine perfect job and work backwards from there". After a few minutes, it became clear that my perfect job was sitting in front of my laptop eating pita bread, writing the odd 140 character message and fielding phone calls from equally bored, yet employed, friends.

Either that, or doing what I've just been doing for the last eight months. Travelling, spending money on everything and nothing, occasionally writing about it. Ideally, getting paid.

Then I realised that actually, it's not that I can't think of a perfect job, or even a job that I'd put up with to earn a crust. Because travelling hasn't given me a magical career solution, it's just reminded me that you can live a bloody brilliant life when you don't have to work. Or perhaps, that you can be quite happy working in a less than wonderful job, as long as afterwards, you can have a beer in the sun.

So, in conclusion: Now I'm back in nice expensive London, one wonders what the upside to working here actually is.

Which, unfortunately, is really a bit of a problem. You know, because I'm in London and in need of a job, and have banned myself from the only one I'm actually qualified to do.

Luckily I have solved all these problems and more by getting a new phone (HTC Wildfire, arriving tomorrow), agreeing to help paint the Boy's bedroom and arranging various lunch dates for the coming week.

Procrastination for the nation. Yeaaaah.