This time, it’s for reals, yo.

OK… let me start off by saying FUCK YOU, BBC2, for not airing “Starter for 10” on the BBC iPlayer… Seriously. All this girl wants today is a little Cumberbatch and Gatiss goodness. Guess I’m going to be forced to watch some “Sherlock”... Gee, that sucks. (Not really, but I was hoping for some new Cumberbatchian yumminess.)

While I’m embracing the cranky, guess who got let go yesterday? After two months, I was told simply that “it wasn’t working out.” I have no idea what that means. Not once was I ever told I was doing anything wrong. He did verbally attack me on Tuesday for no good reason and made me feel like I was a half inch tall. I let it slide… we had our good days and our bad days but, if anything, it was minor compared to The Bitch I Used to Work With.

And that’s just one of his many managerial missteps.

#1 on his list of fuck ups would be calling a female co-worker a “C-word” while on the phone with another female co-worker in front of a third female co-worker, but let’s not go there. That one I didn’t let slide, and he knew full well how inappropriate I felt that was, but then he proceeded to justify his use of the word.

Yeah.

In retrospect, I probably should have quit.

However, in an effort to cheer me up, the husband reminded me that this is a new chance to look for a job overseas.

A third try to get it right.

Last time, I had shit luck. All the companies with European offices were in Boston, and those were the ones that turned me down due to my commute. Maybe, just maybe, the third time will be the charm.

Dog, I fucking hope so.

So. Yeah. I’m going to dig deeper, look harder, and bug every single company I’m the least bit interested in if they have a UK office. Plus, I’m going to get even better educated on the ways of the UK visa procedures. There has to be a loophole somewhere. If people can illegally immigrate to the U.S., there has to be a way for people like me to get across the pond, right? (I may be rereading this a few more times, a little more carefully, and a hell of a lot more seriously.)

Speaking of things British, my Cabin Pressure fan fic has been called “Series 5” (draft #1), “The Missing Episodes” (draft #2), and now, draft #3 is going to be called “WHY WON’T YOU JUST FLOW SMOOTHLY, YOU ASSHOLE? WHY DOES THIS HAVE TO BE SUCH A STRUGGLE? AKA Series 3.5”

I’m not ready to walk away from it, but holy fuck… I honestly can’t remember the last time I worked this hard on a piece. Most of the time I write fiction, ANY fiction, I get to a point similar to where I was creatively before draft #2 and just leave it to die. I don’t know why I’m obsessed with finishing it, especially since it’s obsessed with finishing ME.

In other news, the Johnlock is slow going. Not because I’m struggling with that, too, but because the Cabin Pressure one won’t leave me alone.

I dunno… I know I’ll get through being unemployed (AGAIN), and I know I have some decent distractions (*cough* Cabin Pressure fan fic from hell *cough*)...

But right now, more than anything, I’m especially grateful to a certain platypus.

Thank you so much for texting me today even though it had to cost a small fortune.I’ll never be able to tell you just how big a smile it put on my face, but there’s a reason you’re my very favourite platypus.

——

Completely no-quite-so-unrelated… there’s a “how to” guide floating around teh intarwebs about writing fan fic based on British TV shows (mainly Doctor Who, but some Sherlock references made it in). One of the things the girl pointed out was that she really hated to read stories set in the UK that were written in American English. She basically said it ‘killed the mood’. It was an interesting point, and honestly, one that I’d already thought of AFTER writing “It Was Always There”. Before I started writing more fan fic, I made sure that all my computers were set to the UK standards (keyboard, clock, date formats, etc.), and my dictionaries are British English. It’s still screwing me up a little bit, but I knew I was in trouble when I started to write an email to a co-worker that used the British spelling of several words.

I felt a little ridiculous, but decided to shrug it off and leave the spelling alone.

It’s just who I am now… A UK resident in heart and mind, but not body.

Not yet.