In which life sucks an ounce less

5.5 years ago, I stepped off the plane and jumped into the town car that would take me to my new office. I promptly horrified at what a dump it was, given my prior D.C. accommodations.

13.5 hours ago, I stepped out of my shitty car and walked into the same office. And was overjoyed at how awesome it was compared to my prior rural accommodations.

Amazing, the difference.

We have a better view. And a balcony. And it has about a thousand fewer bugs. And two fewer crackheads and one less person who was told to leave Wall Street and never return. So, there’s that.

I almost quit 11 times during my 56 hours (so far) of captivity this week. I offered my job to no fewer than four people. I burst into tears once. Tossed a yam or two like a football. Felt my soul detach and slide into the street.

And then today, my friends and I crawled through our window and surveyed the street below — and danced on our private balcony to the Latin music filling the air — and life got better in that very instant.

Things can only get better once you’ve hit rock bottom. And baby, I felt it. Time to bounce.

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