by Living with another person again has given a greyish-brown tinge to everything. I’m used to doing whatever I do without being noticed. Now whatever I do is noticed, analysed, scrutinised and critiqued in an accusatory tone, and it wears me out. This is how I live here. I try and be as unobtrusive as I can. If you don’t like how I live, you don’t have to live here. My flatmate is an eminent Wikipedia editor, so perhaps I shouldn’t be surprised. Lack of personal space is also a problem. To partially solve that, I dismantled my slat bed last night and moved it into storage in the basement. Moving the mattress was in no way a one-person job but I had no real choice. I’m now sleeping in the spare bedroom instead, and I’m turning what was my bedroom into a study. Then there’s the farting. So many farts, and they all sound like the noise a squeezable bottle of Wattie’s tomato sauce makes when you accidentally get a bigger dollop than you wanted. I’ve now got enough fascinating fart facts at my fingertips to heavily analyse, scrutinise and critique if I so wish. Of course the biggest problem with any flatmate is me; I like my own company far more than the average person, and I’ve certainly got used to it over the years.
My contract at work was due to finish on 17th October, but that has now been ripped up and my end date is now 7th April. Yes, just two months away. I got called into a meeting about this today. This has all come about because of one new manager who wants to change things just to make his mark, just for something to add to his CV to help him get the next job in a couple of years where he’ll be able to make a 5% bigger mark for 5% more money, and so on. New roles will be created, and I should be able to slot into one of them, so all is by no means lost, but it’s still an unnecessary process that causes unnecessary stress, and not everyone does have a role to slot into. In the meeting I was thinking about that lovely feeling I got when I arrived in Boston the second time. Mmm, Boston. And it’s been almost as hot today as it was on my last day there; another beautiful day in what has been a fantastic summer, but I’ve felt worn out and unable to appreciate it one bit.
I’ve now had three ransom viruses at work. They’re becoming a bit of a joke, as am I. The source of them remains a mystery. Every time I get one my PC has to be rebuilt and my ability to actually do anything is heavily compromised. I’ve got them all on Wednesdays at around noon. There’s a 4% chance you’d get them all on the same weekday so that may or may not be coincidence. Though I wouldn’t admit it to my colleagues, I was a bit disappointed not to get a virus today.
On Friday I’ll attempt to sell the Camry to Turners. I’ll be catching a very early flight to Christchurch the next morning. On Monday I’ll be picking up my parents’ Honda and driving it back here. I’m very much looking forward to the drive and the ferry, which I haven’t been on since 2004.
The Australian Open women’s final was a wonderful match with such an unexpected result, though it was seriously in doubt right until the end. I was so happy for Kerber that she won. It was the best women’s match I’ve seen in quite a while. There were surprises throughout the women’s draw, with Shuai Zhang coming from zero lifetime grand slam wins to make the last eight where she was beaten by Johanna Konta who now plays for Britain. And yes, I had to update that page (there was the very real possibility in the third set that Serena would save a match point and go on to win, and I’d have to update it for a different reason). The men’s tournament was altogether more predictable, and Andy Murray (predictably) lost to other-worldly Djokovic, falling to his seventh defeat in nine grand slam finals. But hang on a sec, nine grand slam finals. That’s quite an achievement in itself.
