In one of those strange cases of coinciding rhythms, I've been made an ancillary element to a friend's quarter-life crisis. Barely three weeks after Anthony said, "You're going to need to get a proper job," Steph and Dani are off in New York and I'm temping for the government. There's amusement in trying to shoehorn one of the less conventional working histories into a temp agencies only-work-in-IE boxes. There's even more amusement in hearing that one's references are being checked after one's already taken up the position.

The temporary thing is strange. I want to be considered a resource - an item of applied, if advanced, stationery - and thus be efficient and impersonal. On the other hand, I'm probably going to be out of here in two weeks, so if I add whimsical notes to the business items going out (just to the team!) does it really matter?

I've never had a problem being strange. I have often had difficulties making sense to people not currently on the right wavelength. I'm trying to be restrained. I haven't made any Anthony-esque "you're an open action item" responses.

Yet.

The real fun, of course, comes when I have to administer these professional fora thingies. "Have you taken minutes before?" Steph asked, as she was inducting me.

"Well," I said. "Not of anything that didn't involve copious consumption of alcohol."