New job is fine, but I’ve decided to get the earlier train every day. This means getting up at 6.50, and dressing and putting on makeup in near darkness to avoid waking Steve, who called me an old goat last week for stomping around and turning the radio on. We did discuss sleeping in separate rooms but the thought was too horrible to take seriously.

Three signs that I need more sleep

Had panicked dreams that I’d slept through my alarm, had to climb over a shaky, spider-covered fence to get into the office, and that I fainted on the train.

Approaching the ticket barriers at Kings Cross, I took my house keys out of my bag, instead of my train ticket. (Told Steve and apparently he does this all the time. He also tries to get into his office building with our house keys, and into our house with his work swipe card, on a weekly basis.)

Drinking coffee at my desk, I missed my mouth and hurled coffee all over my chin. It’s one way to wake up, I suppose.

Update: new job is still OK, but sometimes, like when I send something to print five times and it STILL DOES NOT PRINT, I want to cry and beat my fists against the printer/person standing near the printer/myself. I know I sound like I’m 85, but isn’t technology supposed to make our lives easier? Spending an hour transferring files, repeatedly, to an FTP site does not make my life easier. Think from now on I’ll work with a pencil and paper.

So here’s an account of my stupid, tiresome commute. It’s making me want to kill myself (2 1/2 hours a day… what I could be doing with that extra time… that’s 12 1/2 hours a week!)

Leave house, trot to station. Cram onto platform with Annoying Sniffing Guy, Leather Jacket Sci-Fi Geek, and various others who all board the same door as me. If lucky, get seat on train (August was a dream. Everyone was on holiday).

Change at Blackfriars, spend 8 minutes waiting for next train (but they’re London Transport minutes, which (fact) are 90 seconds long rather than the accepted 60. Me and Steve once counted and it’s true). Train creaks along to Kings Cross, stopping for no reason (or none that the driver cares to share with us) between stations, in tunnels etc.

Race off train at Kings Cross, scuttle across two major intersections, and hoof it up Caledonian Road to bus stop. As bus stop comes into view, so does bus, pulling away.

Wait few minutes for next bus, get off 5 minutes later (right opposite the prison) at the heart of skanky Caledonian Road.

Make the last final sprint to the office, arriving ten minutes late. Repeat 5 times a week. (I usually try to break things up a little on the journey home, by taking a different route etc.)

In other news, I am changing jobs on Monday. I found this out on Wednesday. It’s still pretty hush-hush, and it’s just a parallel move within the company. Think I’ll like it there (and I can’t tell you where ‘there’ is).

I’m back. It’s been months, no one even checks this blog anymore, you all gave up on me back in about May. And I don’t blame you. So, what’s been happening? Me and S are still living in cohabiting bliss, in our messy but spacious flat. We’re finally, only 10 months after moving in, getting some work done on the place. I can’t wait. It’s shameful that the bathroom walls and ceiling were peeling when we moved in, and we’ve still done nothing about it. But we’re getting quotes from a builder, and hopefully work will start soon. The study’s still a mess – no desk, just boxes of miscellaneous junk – and we haven’t painted a single wall.

Part of the reason I haven’t written in months is because my screen is visible to about 10 people. And I can’t just blog after work – many of my colleagues stay till 6.30 or 7 every night, and work through lunch. Bah. So from now on I’ll try to snatch a moment every few days/weeks/months to write. If I’m still working here, that is.