So somebody heard my plea, because I got a job. A job in my field, nonetheless. Of course, I haven't been sitting on my behind all spring either. I did, technically, have a job. That is, if you count sweeping floors and taking old ladies' money for overpriced greenhouse goods a job. But this new one, this job that I start next week, offers me benefits and a cubicle. That's right, I will for the first time in my life have my own health insurance. I'll no longer be under my parents or the boy or anyone else. I can pick my own plan, my own dentist, my own everything. They will offer me paid holidays and sick leave. I won't be required to stand for 8 hours in a row in a place that's 85 degrees because the owner refuses to turn the air on, even when customers come to the counter sweaty and complaining. I won't have to use a bathroom that relies on the leftover rolls of TP taken from the customers' bathroom. The same bathroom that has a pile of comics sitting next to the toilet. I mean, that's fine if you want to poop on company time (which never happened here because you had to clock out for every single break. Let me know if you think that's lawful...), but reading comics in there? Really? The bathroom was in the breakroom. You could be eating a sandwich and hear people in the bathroom. Anyway, I digress.

This really couldn't have come at a better time. I had already decided if I didn't get this job I would forget about all things English. I would go back to school for CSP (I was accepted into their fall program) and never write another word or talk about the time that was my MA program.