I’ve lost my voice.  Maybe I lost it on the plane.  More likely I misplaced it somewhere in the packing frenzy that took place the night before I left.  Will someone please FedEx it over here so I quit sounding like a wounded seal?

I woke up Monday morning and discovered my loss.  Not surprising since I had woken up Sunday with a sore throat, sat for 11 hours in germ infested airplanes and then proceeded to be left out in the lovely English weather (much like Seattle, only the overcast skies are MUCH more oppressive.  Not sure how.  They just are.) in front of the Avis desk riding herd on all of our luggage while my co-workers took their sweet time programming the GPS (we call it Jane).  So my first day at work, meet and greet day, I pretty much just prayed that everyone could understand my broken American English.

This morning however, my sound of thirteen year old boy going through puberty had been replaced by a more refined Demi Moore type raspyness accompanied by a cough that sounds like aforementioned wounded seal.  Sigh.

Other than that, we’re having a wonderful time.  We rented two cars, and two preferred drivers have emerged out of our group of six.  Unfortunately, I’m one of them.  It seems the general consensus is that if I can drive a fire truck, surely I can handle driving a Mercedes C-class around several multi-lane roundabouts with all of my controls on the opposite (including my seat) side of what I’m used to.  Brilliant.  Oh, and when  you get off the roundabout, please try not to drive into oncoming traffic.  Simple.  I would like to apologise in advance for all past and future years I have shaved off the lives of the residents of Bedfordshire.  Seriously.

(Actually, I’ve been secretly having alot of fun with the driving thing, and am getting the hang of it.  No use telling my co-workers that.  Ruins the fun.)

More on all of that later though.  Time to go out to dinner with the group.  Not sure what’s on the agenda.  Last night was an amazing little wine bar/restaurant in Milton Keynes.  Maybe my voice is hiding somewhere in a pint.  I’m off to check.

Saturday I’m taking off again for work.  This time to the UK.  We’ll be about an hour north of London in Ampthill which I believe is a town in Bedfordshire.  I’m very excited about this trip, especially since two of my favorite people (AmericanMum and her husband) have been contemplating moving to England for a while now.  Hearing and reading about their experiences has made me long to have a few myself.  Although we’ll be attempting to complete a month’s worth of work in 9 days, we will have a weekend in between to play.  Any suggestions? 

I’m feeling particularly uninspired.  Not just to write, but in general.  This happens right about this time every year for some reason.  How could this be? I mean, there’s nothing about my life right now that sucks.  Well, maybe the lack of a boyfriend, but that could be argued either way.

If I take an inventory of all that I have, it’s staggering:

• Amazing family.  Check.
• Some of the funniest/best friends around.  Check.
• A very nice condo in one of the most beautiful cities I’ve been to.  Check.
• A great career that takes me all over the world and promises more to come.  Check.
• The ability to do, for the most part, whatever I want, whenever I want.  Check.

The list could go on, but usually when I get that far I start feeling very spoiled-rotten-only-child-like.  It’s as if I need to throw a pity party for absolutely no reason at all.  Maybe it’s that the Seattle grayness has gotten to me a little late in the game.  Maybe I just need to get the hell over it.  Yeah.  That usually works.

Oh, the joys of Telecommuting!  Every Monday and Friday when I’m not on assignment are what my friend Chris in Philly calls Pajama Days.  Pajama Days consist of the following:  Wake up, stumble into the living room, log into work, and proceed to IM various coworkers while calling into a stupid amount of teleconference meetings throughout the day. 

Unfortunately, this rarely allows for the basics…you know, like showers and food.  How does that happen?  Do these people really occupy so much of my time that I can’t even brush my teeth until 2:30 PST?  I’m about ready to start blocking out 30 minutes on my Outlook Calendar for personal hygiene.   

Sad.