I'm so tired. I feel alone. I'm on the verge of feeling sorry that I ditched my job search and came here. I'm wondering if I should have tried one of the job options my friend Clarissa suggested. Like professional home invader. I'd be the feminine, white collar version--well groomed, courteous, I just want all your cash, please.

It’s 9:30 London time. I’m awake against my will—the man who manages this condo stopped by. I of course completely ignored the doorbell, but he let himself in. I had no idea who it was, and was in a panic, reaching for my phone, but didn’t know, can I dial 911 here? Will I need prefixes? Just then he called out…this could be the opening scene for a horror flick, or, it could be the beginning of an annoying relationship with the jackass condo manager.

I think luck played into this scenario in the following ways: 1. I washed my face last night, so no mascara rubbed all over, and 2. I was wearing a nightie (as opposed to wearing nothing).

To his credit, the jackass at least brought caffeine. To his discredit, it was in the form of tea—and probably cheap stuff from Tesco. At some point I need, need, need to get coffee, but through the haze of jetlag that seems like an insurmountable challenge.

Good night.