So this is my last week of being twenty-six and it hasn’t quite sunk in yet. I’ll have plenty of time to think about being twenty-seven when I’m on the plane Saturday. I turn the big 2-7 on Friday the 13th and we’ll be celebrating in the North End. My family will be there and Bub, of course. Another year gone. It’s funny how nostalgic I am; I just wonder how I’ll feel looking back on everything when I’m in my forties, eighties…
So. London. I leave on Saturday afternoon and I’m not looking forward to a long layover in NY. I suppose I could do work to keep busy, or call people I haven’t talked to in a while, but something about waiting around in airports makes me feel like the flight is neverending since I’ll have been waiting to board forever. Hopefully I’ll get some sleep on the overnight flight. I have a 7am arrival and then the inevitable drop off of luggage while I wait for my room to be ready Sunday morning. Bub and I were not too happy dragging ourselves from museum to museum and sightseeing when we were exhausted. Maybe they’ll have a room set for me. I hope to get out (and shop!) while sightseeing on Sunday afternoon with an old work colleague. Then it’s the book fair and before I know it, back home.
I’m celebrating my birthday, bar-style and with friends the next Friday, so it’s like a week-long celebration even though I work in between even if it is in a foreign country.
And finally, I’m being pursued by one company for a newly open position. The last job didn’t work out and I’m OK with it, but I don’t mind being hunted down to discuss new opportunities. Of course, it’s too easy to meet with them in London (and I confirmed that they will be there), so it’s an after work date with them on Wednesday. Lately I’ve found interviewing has been more a waste of my time more than anything. Sure, it’s networking, but selling yourself is draining.