Flashback

It's 4 AM.

Standing on the balcony, watching numbly as the sky slowly turns grey.

Barely noticing that the cigarette is all but smoked down to the filter.

Shivering from the cold of the morning and the exhaustion of 17 hours of non-stop work.

The effect of 9 rather large mugs of coffee slowly wearing out.

Good Lord, how I miss it.

Returning to translation, symptoms of

Even thought my official return to the job will not be for several weeks, my organism has decided to switch back into translator mode.

In other words, my back hurts as hell, my eyes are sore and charmingly bloodshot, and my head is being pounded by a thousand John Bonzo Bonhams on speed.

Welcome back.

The Inevitable Conclusion

As stated above, I'm returning to my profession. The circle is now complete and the inevitable conclusion is as follows:

Once a translator, always a translator.

Sounds a bit Narnian to me, but then again, translators do operate on the border of two or more different worlds.

Out of curiosity, is there anyone actually reading this?

Return of the prodigal son

I have tried not being a translator.

Didn't work.

So as of the middle of February, I'm back in business. Or rather, starting my own. What awaits me is a gargantuan pile of paperwork, close-call skirmishes with bureaucracy and the ever-growing, ever-thirsty Charybdis of taxation.

And you know what?

I already can't wait.