I am really not in a boat. Or Botswana for that matter. I am, however, grasping along my first shift of being in charge while listening to Nordic music and narration for a movie that I cannot actually watch since I am supposed to [wo]man the front desk. I think. I haven't actually gotten much training on what more to do other than man the front desk and how to get in and out of the buildings without setting off alarms.
Luckily since my mother drove me this morning, she decided to come have a peek at the new exhibit and talked me down from a couple high stress moments where in all likelihood I'd just end up destroying precious documents or sending them into some abyss no mankind has ever seen before. She is now watching said movie that I cannot watch [although I'm sure I actually could. No one has shown up yet and it's been 40 minutes since opening. Oh god, only 40 minutes!?]
Anyways.
So that I don't bungle anything up, I'm going to review notes, work on Kyleman's Valentine's gift and read a little Agatha Christie, that sly old lady.
Also, in case anyone's noticed I've changed my blog's name from [and domain name? webpage linky thing?] because I felt a) I really don't talk about Monty Python at all, b) the name was too long and in my head I kept shortening it from It's Just a Flesh Wound: Confessions of a Former Monty Python Addict to It's Just a Flesh Wound, which I'm sure would confuse a whole bunch of people about whether I'm recording about some wound I have or not/how suicidal I was [I'm not] and c) flesh wounds usually scare people, not invite them into their folds.
Opinions?
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