I have my own cubicle. My own! I don't have to share it with anyone. Its bare, faux-carpeted walls are crying out to be covered in pictures of loved ones, funny cat calendars and posters of sunsets. I have a computer and a couple of filing cabinets. At one point, someone emailed me about calling a number to schedule an appointment, and I left a message for a callback.

I felt like such a regular person. Of course, I'm not really that regular, so I'll inevitably find ways to bring irregularity to the workplace. Gradually, inch by inch. They won't even notice.

I'm in for an average of about five seven-hour work days a week. The earliest I'll start is 10 AM. Today I read through a multitude of information about formatting House of Commons debates, but I won't be able to really grasp it until I'm applying it on a daily basis. Dry work, maybe, but it's going to teach me a shitload about Canadian politics. It's a job that will make me smarter, and really lend me a greater handle on how the country operates.

Vacation-wise, it's ideal. I get six weeks off at Christmas beginning December 13th, a week off in May and then June 24th - September 18th off. It's ideal because I won't have to lose myself in the job all year. I can take plenty of time to explore other interests.

So far, so good. I train for a couple more days this week. The 40th Parliament begins session on Tuesday. Here's to hoping everything continues to work out.

My record with job interviews has been pretty damn good since I entered the world of employment. There have been occasions in which I've gone into an interview and not secured the job, but I'm usually quick with the responses and good with the attitude and never say the wrong thing. Today was no exception. Great test scores, great interview, great feeling, great results.

"I'd be crazy not to hire you."

They're going to let me know officially early next week, once interviews are through, but I'm very confident it's a lock. I'd be working at least 30 hours a week at a fantastic pay rate. I'll be making more money than I ever have at any job. Which means I'll start paying back my loan while worrying less about money. I'll be in a great spot.

Not a bad day at all. I received three new hardcover Oz books in the mail (Rinkitink, Scarecrow and Tin Woodman), so I only need three to complete my Baum collection. I watched the director's cut of Amadeus, a movie I'd never seen all they way through, and hadn't seen pieces of probably since junior high. Tomorrow is Kat's birthday/punkin carving party, and I'm wearing a mask that Andrea brought back from London. It's pretty freaky looking.

Things to do over the next couple of days: listen to Orson Welles' performance of The War of the Worlds broadcast (70th anniversary!), and watch Halloween. And party.

I got out of bed at 7:40 AM in time to attend my French oral test, which I, of course, failed with flying colours. As I sat in the waiting room the receptionist handed me a basic information questionnaire to fill out in French, and I couldn't complete the thing. The lady who administered the test was friendly and encouraging, and let me attempt to speak for six minutes in conversation before stopping the test. My final French test results: AAX. Requirements for the job that forced me into taking French tests: AAB. By the time I got home I had received both the results and a "better luck next time" note from the Senate in my email inbox.

As I started to ponder what, exactly, I would have to do to keep from starving to death come February, I received a phone call from the woman who tested me at the House of Commons for the transediting job two weeks ago. She invited me back for an interview on Wednesday, so apparently I performed well enough in the first round.

Real rollercoaster of a morning. I'd like to get this job. I'm in the nice, comfortable spot just before the inevitable interview where I know they must think I have promise, and I'm going to coast on the feeling before Wednesday, making sure I go in armed with a CV, recommendations and a smile. Wish me luck.

I ended up organizing Janet Leigh's Bad Luck with Motels for the day after my birthday. Andrea arrives back in Ottawa tonight and I'm leaving in ten minutes to meet her at the train station.

I tested for a position as a transeditor with the House of Commons today, a two-hour, three-part process. Part one was a typing test, definitely the most grueling part as it was timed and I wasn't used to the keyboard. Part two was a written grammar and government knowledge test, mostly multiple choice and fill-in-the-blanks that I feel I did well on. For part three I had to transcribe a debate from audio tape. The recorder was hooked up to a foot pedal, so it felt like driving. Every confidence that I whooped that part's ass. They're going to let me know in about three weeks if I'm worthy of an interview.

I watched JFK last night, and it's a phenomenal film. Stone's editing makes it, as he assaults the viewer with multiple types of motion and still photography to produce different storytelling effects, mirroring the frenzy of the conspiracy theories he address. For not having known much about the assassination, it was incredibly revelatory for me as a film about the importance of questioning government. Cutaway scenes during the trial of JFK's autopsy were real and gritty and took my breath away.

Speaking of dead politicians, how about that Stephane Dion? The worst Liberal showing in Canadian election history. Slow clap. The election played itself out pretty much how I thought it would, though it's certainly a shame the Liberals didn't perform better. The Conservatives are even stronger than they were before. The NDP are inching back up to where they were in the 80's. See you again in two years.