That's how the saying goes. But how do you avoid this when your toilet is 2.5 feet away from the kitchen? Ah, so goes it in the pod-hotel... Yes, there's a door, but then the bathroom feels like a stuffy bomb shelter...

It was a rough day in Auckland, for many a reason. It continues to rain, rain, rain here in the Southerly Seas. I guess it's just something you chalk up to springtime, but I wasn't prepared for monsoon weather. A million thanks to Grandma, who sent me off with a big green raincoat (excuse me, "anorak"). Grandmas always know best. Allegedly the weather gets better here... I'll have to hold out and see.

So the publication for which I am writing here had a traumatic day. Seems the same issues plague publishers the world over. This title's company, a large, American-owned operation, is apparently in discussions to sell said title to a small publisher of two sporting magazines based in the S. Island town of Dunedin (and which doesn't come up on Google, which can only be a bad sign). This does not bode well for the staff, nor for their intern of four days. Actually, I am probably in better position than those on the payroll, according to my boss, who swears the changes won't affect me. But it's a little unnerving. Also awkward, as my co-workers (and newfound friends) are wondering whether they will still have jobs in a few weeks time. This prospective owner seems to have little idea of what running our mag entails - as a result of several conference calls that took place today, they learned there is more staff and more money involved than they originally expected to push this mag out each month. It's more than a little uncomfortable for me to have more "job security" than the journalists who have been here for years, and who have built this title into a magazine that many attest consists of quality work. My go-to person, the staffer closest to my age, seems to be most in jeopardy, which is sticky, to say the least. And should the whole staff get canned, where does that leave me? Knock on wood that this whole deal goes under. The aftermath could be very ugly.

I turned in my first story this morning, and held my breath and bit my nails while my boss read it. Luckily, she came out to our cubes announcing, "Hooray! We have an intern who can write!" Of course, with all the trauma in the office today, who knows how closely she actually read it, but whatever...

Went out with two Americans tonight. NZ seems to be a home for transients, if that's not a complete oxymoron. People who are fed up with their home countries, who need a break from work, who want an adventure, who want a change, come here. I'd like to talk to people who actually call this place home.

The Kiwis I have met have been wonderful. There's an easy-going attitude here that's hard to find elsewhere. People take the time for you, have freedom, a slower pace of life. It's nice, although hard to adjust to from the move-move-move rush of the States. Funny how "I'm from Chicago" becomes "I'm from the States." But it's just easier to explain that way. Had to expound on how Fargo, Minnesota was erroneous earlier. I love that the world is bigger than the Midwest.