A little over 3 months ago, I packed 2 suitcases and headed to the Memphis airport to fly to Manhattan on a 1-way ticket. 'The rats, the gossip girls, the mad men- this will be brilliant fodder for my no-doubt soon illustrious journalism career! Hand me my beret and call me Mary Tyler Moore!'
Yep, I moved to New York a few days before the stock market took a serious dip, without any reliable employment or a place to live, only a few kindly friends who offered me an air mattress as a temporal home. I luckily found my current internship within 36 hours of landing, but the apartment came later...much later. After countless days of inaudible sobbing on the streets and serious consideration of sleeping at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, I found a sublet- for now.
I haven't had to sleep on the subway, and my parents still have a probable chance of having grandchildren since I haven't yet made good on my promise to sell my eggs. But I've ralphed for the first time since 1995, and Tina Fey has yet to offer me a full-time position as her protege.
Cupcake by cupcake, things can only go up from here. Right?
