When I mentioned in my last post that "I think this week should be an exciting one," fate clearly chose to punish me. This week has, in fact, been so mind-numbingly uneventful that it's actually worth remarking on.
Monday, I did nothing during the day. Came back to the Fig Tree after work and had a phone chat with my fellowship adviser at school about my Watson application. Long story short, after a painful period of existential angst, I'm not so dedicated to my Watson anymore. I'm still planning to apply, but at this point...I'm not so sure I'd accept Colgate's nomination if it were offered to me. I like--no, love--the idea of the Watson, but it's actual execution? A year traveling the world alone? I love traveling, but I realized my favorite travel memories are when I was traveling with someone, and I'm starting to get tired of moving around so much--maybe instead of always focusing on where I'm going next, I should settle down for a year or two and focus on building relationships with people instead. That, plus anything I could accomplish during a Watson year I've either already accomplished (like having the confidence and independence to travel alone or do things like eat dinner by myself at a restaurant) or will be able to accomplish later in my life (like studying endangered languages once I have a Master's in linguistics). So, like I said, existential angst.
Tuesday, I did nothing. I felt exhausted and tired and fatigued all day.
Wednesday, I was sick. Or "sick," rather. Granted, I was genuinely sick--was I sick enough to warrant calling into work and saying I couldn't come in that day? Well...that's a matter of interpretation.
Thursday, I had a runny nose, so clearly was too sick to go to work. I continued my trend from Wednesday of sitting in bed and watching 30 Rock on the internet.
Today, I'm about ready to rip out chunks of my hair in frustration. The best I can tell, it's a combination of two factors. First, I've about had enough of the lack of professionalism prevalent throughout Wales. It's ironic, because Frances and Henry are always complaining about how there's this attitude in Wales that "oh, it's only Wales, you don't have to try so hard because it's not London so no one cares." They say they always try to fight that attitude...and yet. They've been running the magazine for, what? twelve? fifteen? years now, and they don't seem to even have a set publishing date. What I mean is, Time magazine gets delivered to my parents' door every Saturday, without fail. You always know when to expect it. No such regularity with this magazine. It's bimonthly, but when during the month--and, to an extent, which of every two months--that you get the magazine seems to depend on the whim of the publisher (ie, Frances and Henry). They keep extending deadlines for advertisers who are waffling. They don't even have a complete collection of all their issues--I'm in the process of indexing, and of the 80 or so issues they've published, I can't find 19 of them. Nineteen! That's fully a fourth, ladies and gentlemen. This whole country is also completely incapable of being on time--I've learned that if someone says they're going to pick me up at nine, they really mean more like 9:15, or, depending on the circumstances, possibly ten. This morning I waited (*cough*in the rain*cough*) fifteen minutes to be picked up, only to then get a call saying my ride would be there fifteen minutes after that (it actually turned out to be twenty) because they were running late. And the tardiness isn't in the relaxed Spanish way...it's more of an "oh oops I forgot about you" way.
My other gripe is that I'm completely, overwhelmingly bored. I've had some really fun experiences in the two weeks I've been here so far, and I'm sure I'll have plenty more, but in between the fun experiences, my brain is rotting from atrophy. I was at work from 11:30 until seven today (fully two and a half hours longer than I should have been...again with the never being on time) and in that time, I edited one piece of advertisement, indexed three magazines, and answered the phone maybe six times. I spent the rest of the time browsing around Facebook and reading user comments on CNN.com articles.
It'd be one thing if I were being paid to be a secretary; I really couldn't complain in that case, because I'd be making money and it's pretty easy work. Indexing is mind-numbing, but once you get into the rhythm it goes quickly and it's nothing to complain about when you're being paid. But the thing is, not only am I not being paid, but I'm actually losing money on this adventure. In addition to the plane ticket (which my parents were gracious enough to pay for), I'm spending about $150 a week on rent (and that's all my own personal money). I reached out to publishers in Wales because I wanted a productive internship. I wanted to be editing manuscripts or helping develop advertising strategies. I wanted to work with authors and be in a creative, busy environment. Instead I'm sitting in a cold, converted barn by myself (or with Frances, on a good day) answering the phone and doing menial tasks. It, quite simply, sucks. I'm supposed to have all these articles I'll be writing, but I'm pretty sure they aren't actually going to happen at this point because part of the lack of professionalism here is that no one is capable of following through on anything.
It also doesn't help that the Fig Tree is 13 miles from the closest town, I don't have a car (obviously), and the bus station is two miles down the road...and the buses are infrequent and unreliable.
Don't get me wrong, I'm still really excited for the Eisteddfod, and if I get to write my articles, those are going to be really fun adventures. Plus it's looking like I'll get to spend a day or two at the Royal Welsh Show next week. But like I said, in between those things? Mind-numbing boredom, and not at all something I signed up for.
How on earth do I keep ending up in situations like this? Last summer it was the Morocco fiasco, then last month it was the boredom of working (yet another) unpaid internship in Champaign where I did nothing but sit around all the time (coupled with living with my grandparents), and now this. My boyfriend suggested I do like I did in Morocco last year: get out while I still can and flee to Spain for a week or two. It's tempting, especially since there's nice weather in Spain, whereas today in Carmarthen there was a high of 58 and I haven't seen the sun since I got here.
One of these days I'll stop aiming for creative summer experiences and just get a job frying burgers like everyone else.
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