When I got the job offer for The-Job-That-Wasn’t 2.0 I was in the West Village, in a Starbucks. It’d been a frantic few days, since Keithers needed to know like, last week whether he was looking for a studio or a 2 bedroom.

A tiny little voice inside of me said “don’t do it.”  I’m not sure why, but self-preservation is a powerful thing and it tried to shout in my ear, and I was stupid and ignored it.

I did it anyway. And then knew from Day One that the job was wrong.

That decision was a year and a half away and a million years ago. There were other paths I could have followed. I could have stayed in Jersey. I could have waited until February and moved to DC with no job. I chose.

And then after rehab, after it was all over, I could have run. It would have been so easy and sensible to curl up in Jersey. I’m still not sure why I didn’t, even though Brent was like ‘do that.’  Instead I stayed. Against rational.

So, here I sit, (typing on my roommates computer; mine is dead) with a different job, different apartment, and just a life that is so much different than the one I allegedly moved down here for. I live in Alexandria (not DC) and work in Alexandria too. My roommate is among the closest of friends I have in the DC area because proximity will do that to you. I have friends down the street.

I love, love, love Alexandria in the way I used to love Astoria, and that is saying a hell of a lot.

Alexandria, VA. Who the hell would have thought?