Working

I'm impressive in interviews. I've been to lots, I know the ropes, and I can knock the ball out of the park at any time. I wiggle my way around questions ("Because of my extensive experience unjamming photocopiers and refilling staplers..."), throw myself whole-heartedly into management speak ("Firstly, I think it's very important to pre-plan for the planning before you plan..."), and come across as the most easy-going person ever ("There was nothing I didn't love about my last job. God! I would have married it if I could have!").

I started a new job this week. It all happened very quickly - I submitted an application in early December and was interviewed two weeks later. They called within 24 hours and offered me the job. Because I'm just that good. They knew they couldn't live without me the moment I left the interview.

Okay. The truth was they were slightly desperate (someone left last-minute), they didn't do a very good job of advertising the position, and it's quite possible that I was the only person who applied.

And so, I'm a working woman again, in a slightly different field, but sitting behind a bigger desk than I had in Philadelphia (and I mean that quite literally - my desk is, for some reason, the size of sturdy six-seater dining room table). I feel silly now for all that stewing and hand-wringing I did over whether or not I would find something. All those hours after Dutch class I poured over job ad sites, more and more obscure as the time ticked away, feeling a restlessness slowly build into panic.

And now, after all that, my time off seems so short. Not that I'm complaining. Because, as much as I joke, it really is nice to feel like I'm contributing to something again, to get up every morning and have somewhere to go, have things to do that people are depending on. One step closer to calling Belgium home. And for that, I have to say I'm thankful.