Two out of three are accomplished:

• Kinga has a job.
• We have an apartment.

I’m still looking, and that means the obvious. The dreadful -— temping. Oh, how I hated temping in Boston.

That’s what I’m supposed to say, right? But bottom line is, it doesn’t really bother me. It’s obviously not a long-term career choice. “Our third contestant is Gary, a professional temper, with thousands of assignments under his belt.” No, not something I want to keep until I perfect it, but there is a, well, charm about it for a little while. Walking into an office and not knowing what you’ll be doing, who you’ll be working for, what your coworkers will be like, or even where your place of work is located.

Okay, it does suck.

Even the title —- a temp -— is demeaning. “Oh, you’re the new temp.” An outsider in every sense of the word.