This Must Be The Place (Naive Melody)
From an email I sent to a friend in January:
...and on my lunch break, i must have been all bleary-eyed from staring at the computer. as i was leaving the building, i accidentally stepped into the same compartment of the revolving door with some dude. neither of us noticed at first, until my purse got stuck in the door. then he looked down at me, i looked up at him, and he goes, "what are you doing?"
what am i doing??? i am not fit for new york!
But that was way back in January and I am now proud to report that I fucking own that revolving door. I sent that email around the same time that I started looking for a job. This search took much longer than I expected -- surprise, surprise. By luck, my first job practically fell into my lap, so I naturally assumed that it would not be that difficult to find a new position elsewhere. Yet being an English major in New York, trying to break into the publishing industry, is not unlike an actor moving to LA to become a movie star. But at least you can sleep your way to the top in LA. In a city/industry based almost entirely on conacts, I had none; my father does not play golf with So&So's father (he does not play golf at all, for that matter). Just when I was ready to curse the Baby Boomer generation, for taking its sweet time with retirement, leaving the rest of us incapable of moving up a notch, I finally found a new job. It's not my dream job, of course, but I'll be an Assistant Editor and I really like the way that sounds. Plus, there are TVs in the elevators of my new office building.