My natural tendency to say "Fuck you, I'm not your slave" kicked in. I have that all the time I'm back at home. I've tasted independence every damn year of university and I do believe I rather like it. Coming home and having to play by their rules and put up with their barbs really pisses me off. But what the hell. For my plans to come to fruition, I need money. And thus, I need a job. But fuck the idea of a summer job. No bloody way am I putting up with stacking fucking cucumbers for three fucking months. Not a chance in Hades. It took a while, but in the end I figured it out: They want me to get a job. I need a job, no matter how little I want one. So, I went online looking through graduate job sites.
I will freely admit to being amazed at the quantity of jobs available, and some of the employers. From the Government Statistics Office to the Secret Information Service (MI6, people -- the agency Bond would belong to). I ended up making a short list of jobs to apply to. Copy-pasting the information as I'm stuck on a fucking dialup, evenings and weekends only, I now have a text file with the information. I have a text file, raw ASCII, which contains 44k of jobs. I'm impressed. By Wednesday I have to get a CV written and a covering letter done up to draft standards, that I can start applying. I want a job, funnily enough. I want a good job with enough pay that I can have a flat. A place to live that isn't here. And a car. And a cable line. With all of that I will be happy.
In other news, I'm glad to be home as I don't have to buy the beer.
Anyhow. CV work tomorrow. Job applications as well as attacking my stash of Nerd Stuff.