In which t chats about her ass
Turns out, content migration is a bitch. It’s data entry for the 21st century, and it fucking sucks. Luckily, I have hella experience in it (yay internships!), so I’m quicky getting a system down for the type of stuff I’m doiong here.
More or less.
The problem is that my system isn’t *quite* well enough defined for me to train someone in it. Not only that, but training a complete neophyte to do content management *well* is fucking difficult. There are just too many tiny details that you can’t forget. I can make a list and write out effective instructions (yay internships!), but it’s difficult to communicate the attention to detail that’s absolutely necessary for a professional site.
ARGH. It doesn’t help that my coworkers also lack confidence in my counterpart’s ability to do a good job.
Anyway, it’s been kind of an interesting day. Lots of chatting about politics and gender and human rights and everything that’s absolutely different between the States and Bénin.
Another of my coworkers, whose work ethic I respect immensely, was surprised to find that in addition to being a hard worker, I’m funny as hell (and in French, no less!). All of a sudden, everybody’s treating me like one of the team. It’s bizarre, after almost three months of sitting in my office by myself, but I think a lot of it has to do with the fact that people can finally see the product I’ve been putting together. It looks fuckin’ GOOD. Cookie cutter, but that’s okay, since it still looks a fair sight better than ‘most anything our copetitors have got out there.
In other news, I saw my face in the mirror today for the first time in forever. I mean, I’ve put make up on in the last month, but I haven’t taken the time to really LOOK. Holy shit, I’ve lost a lot of weight. My grandparents and Lynne (THANKS! A letter is written and will be mailed on Friday!) sent some clothes that would have been a snug fit when I got to post (or at least, when I left the States). Now, they’re actually all a little bit big. Which is fine, because tight clothes aren’t really appropriate for me here anyway.
It’s just . . . weird. You get used to seeing yourself a certain way, you know? And it’s a shock when you’re . . . not the same as you always thought you were. Africa’s brought about some bizarre changes, and I’m not entirely certain I’m ready to face them yet.
Anyway. The coolest thing is that the confidence has come entirely seperately from the weight loss (thanks cute African boys!), so catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror this morning was an extra bonus prize. Sweet!