It's Peru, Baby.

The thing about working in a trendy/touristy area of central London (I teach in South Kensington and Notting Hill) is that everybody always seems to be enjoying life more than you. People linger in sunny cafes over a coffee and newspaper, directionless American tourists wander fatly along, carefree English language students gather in laughing groups on the pavement, posh yummy mummies push chubby yummy babies around the park. I scurry to work darting envious looks, ever aware that though I may covet the afternoon pub-goer's lifestyle, I'd better make a penny or two before I start. The teaching work which I wasn't sure if I would get this summer is continuing, you see. This is great, really the last thing I am in need of right now is a holiday... yet I had kinda hoped that I might have some non-optional time off to try and get some journalistic balls rolling, so to speak. I suppose it will all come in good time, with the right effort, but it's still quite a challenge to put that effort forth when I haven't got used to being married, living in London, my new job, or my totally new life yet. Kaveh, my boss, just asked me if I'd prefer to teach 6 or 8 hours a day come September, which adds to my confusion. Do I need to work flat-out at a job which I am pretty sure is fairly short-term? (Yet, he asked again if I'd like to go to China to do teacher training - is this just carrot-dangling?) Or should I use those extra hours to write? We desperately need some financial stability, and realistically, will I just end up whiling away those precious extra hours over a steamy cappucino, watching the increasingly autumnal world go by? Hmm. All I know is that busy people get things done. Sod it, I'm off to read the newspaper in Starbucks. Bye!