 I am in Die Nederlands (Das? Den? De? Could research, but no...much easier to prevaricate on your time).
There's all sorts of interesting stuff going on. People going for interviews for the same job (er, that'd be me and Lisa then) and one of us feeling slightly less confident (er, me) than the other deserves to (you know, on account of having had work in the last two years, etc.), other people getting offered dozens of jobs and having issues deciding which one to take (Den Haag/Gambia/Cambodia...does anyone have a three sided coin? D, nix on the coin edge comment), while others are stressing over finishing their two year experience with enough tickboxes met to be eligible for the diploma (er, that'd be me again actually). I don't think I will.
Which is why, when I'm feted (I MAY be exaggerating to make myself feel better: it's more going to be like - bumping into someone who's said they'll be here tomorrow and we could have an informal chat about a job in Rixensart (10 points to the first person who guesses for which company this could be) but you know, a girls' gotta glamorise. Then burst bubbles. *pop*) tomorrow evening at 'the great debate' (these Dutch - they've organised everything! Our formal dinner is preceded by canoeing down a canal. WTP!?!? WHAT SHOES DO I WEAR?!!) I'm going to have to be on top form.
Not bleeding, cramping and wolfing down painkillers (day 2).
Not stressing over other people's relationships.
Not worrying about friends considering abandoning me to Praguelife alone (again *sob*).
Not despairing over working in my native tongue, in a system that requires/demands/accepts/utilizes me.
Not scared we're going to lose the America's Cup Challenge.*
But. Hell. What would life be like if it weren't like this? One of my friends here said, laughingly "Nomes, I knew that with you it'd be drama.". Laughingly. As she stroked my hair in that "oh you!" kind of way. FFS!
Do I seek drama? Not intentionally. Really. I know no one believes that. But it's TRUUUUUE.
Do I revel in drama? Possibly. Ravel perhaps. With boleros and capes and shit. I do dig that.
Do I back the hell away from drama? Hell no. I get it drunk, I carouse with it, I sing on trams with it, and then I get fucked by it.
Is "drama" a pseudonym? NO.
*okay, I'm not THAT focussed on the great race. Not when we don't get our feet wet again for another few days and we're practising getting our speed up. But, y'know. I have to pretend it's not all about me. Once in a while. Apparently. Labels: America's Cup, Travelling |
