Drinks, anyone?

Yeah, so remember how I told you that Dan planned to wake up at 4 am to do work? Yeah, so he did. And since there is nowhere to sit in our entire apartment, he worked in bed. First there was the alarm clock ringing in the middle of the night. Then there was the light of the computer screen, which in the darkness felt like a flashlight switched on my face. Then there was the non-stop clattering of the keys.

I could not fall back asleep. I had an interview the next day. I WAS FURIOUS.

After tossing and turning for what seemed like forever, in between some scowling faces directed at Dan (to which he replied, completely clueless, "What?"), I was finally able to fall asleep by smooshing a pillow over my face and ear. It was good that Dan was already gone the next day when I woke up because I was ready to kill him.

But then I saw the nice little note he wrote and left on the refrigerator, pepping me up for my interview, saying the words I needed to hear. All the madness melted away and I decided he was the greatest guy in the world. (He also apologized later).




The interview was going great, until the woman told me that she did not have any freelance work for me. After that, I kind of shlepped around town, head down and dragging my feet, feeling like a total loser. I had plans to meet my former coworkers for drinks and I totally had to force myself to go.

Having a few glasses of wine at Flute and a pizza at Serefina and chatting with my friends made me feel so much better. I told them I felt completely hopeless. They reassured me that I wasn't. I came home and watched bad tv including The Secret Childhood of Michael Jackson until past one in the morning, sitting in the empty living room in the desk chair, feeling fat and drunk and well, hopeless.

The next morning, I checked my email and voice messages at eleven (very shortly after climbing out of bed, deeply tired and slightly hungover), only to find that I had a very good freelance job prospect (interview on Friday, work starting next week, crossing my fingers) and a copy writing assignment from another magazine that I worked on today.

If this is what happens a day after drinking, I should start going out more often.