Under the Northumberland Sun

While at work this afternoon, I finally made the call back to the old country to sort out my summer employment. This is something that brings me anxiety every spring and, like most things, I struggle between procrastinating as long as possible and getting it done as early as possible. We all know there is no magic employment tree -- jobs are limited, especially in small towns. I also struggle with where to work and what kind of work I want to do because I'm incredibly picky and like to get my way, which brings me to today's lesson:

Being an adult means putting on your big girl (or boy) underwear and sucking it up (in a strictly non-sexual context, barring certain career choices of course).

This is why I have opted for four months of farm labour back home rather than a job related to my chosen career (a concept that is rapidly turning into something distant and nebulous). Now, this is not on my family's farm, as that doesn't exist, but in the vineyards at the winery down the road from my house where I worked last summer as a Tasting Bar Rep and Server.  The bonus? Built in exercise and tan (after the inevitable burn peels off).  

So back to the sucking it up. My father has been telling me for years that I need to have what he so charmingly calls 'Fuck You money' saved up in case I'm fired, need to quit etc. so I'm going to slave in the dirt for now since unpaid internships may dominate my immediate post-grad period. If only I wanted to be an accountant. Or a plumber.