My first week is over. I am so tired I can hardly think of going to the Coop a hundred meters below to get some breakfast. But I have also had the whole menu this place can offer, too. My deputy got sick and I had to take over her shift in addition to my weekend one. I learnt 38 names and faces by heart and managed to match at least 60 % of them by Tuesday. I can now greet around 10 of my colleagues out of 60 with their first name but I don’t feel bad, because my last name for all of them is almost impossible to pronounce, yet to spell.

I have also spent my first two nights in my adorable 5-room apartement. I have got used to wearing sunglasses all the time, I am not complaining about having to walk up and down every time I want to change my location. Going uphill I used to despise has quickly become a regular work-out. Despite the strong disapproval of my colleagues I have decided not to go to the skiing school this year. I am still horrified by the thought of coming down the slopes on skis – in my imagination, I end up flown down by the first-aid helicopter.

My second week is over, too. I have not had a day to rest but after one of my girls asked me why I had had the same skirt on for the third time in a row I did find an hour to do my laundry. My colleagues still ask me about how the first days are going and I find they might have asked about the first years. I very much feel like I belong here and if I finally remembered the names of the people asking me I’d say I have always been doing fine here, thank you.

Also my third week is over. When the girls saw the rose-curier entering the office they – utterly surprised – asked me if I really had a boyfriend. You? It sounded like being accused of a secret life. I then decided to take the next train, immediately fell asleep in the warm car and after four hours of travelling rang his doorbell. I figured this time I would not let the Job get between us. But to tell the truth, I am getting to believe I do love both of them.