I keep getting asked “But what do YOU want?” and having to answer with “I don’t know.”

What I want is my life in NYC pre grad school, to be the girl that warranted two good-bye parties before she went off to grad school.For a girl who didn’t make any friends in college, that was pretty damn awesome. Between the two parties, I had about 60 people who wanted to give me a hug before I left for Chicago.

My time in New York City before graduate school was the best time of my life. I was 23. I realize I can never be 23 again. In the mirror, I am 5 years older, my face is totally broken out due to all the toxins in alcohol, and half my jeans don’t  fit.

While in grad school, I used to watch any version of Law and Order  (because, it was practically a guarentee that one would be on) and see recognized landmarks in NYC, and I’d get so homesick. To quote L&O SVU “It’s so quiet here. Sometimes I get so homesick for New York that I hum the Mr. Softee song.”

I actually listened to REM’s “Leaving New York” and Tom Petty’s “Square One” about a billion times that summer before I left for Chicago. The former still makes me tear up. Leaving New York was something I’d call my biggest mistake, but how can I call it a mistake when I got an MA at University-of-fucking-Chicago, right? Still…I question.

But then I did go back to NYC after grad school and it was not the same in a million different ways

This is why I cannot go back to The-Job-That-Was, even though I’m in tears about how much I miss being Home.

When I moved back to NYC after grad school it was a disaster. Going back to The-Job-That-Was would probably feel similar.

And so on a day when I just can’t pull a job application together

I know that turning down the job was the right thing to do.

But I’m having a bad day and part of me is like “WTF was I thinking?” I should have taken the job that as offered to me, knowing I’d have basically the best co-workers and bosses in the universe.

It’s more of, I never should have left in September. If I’d just stayed on, just 6 or so more months, just been patient.I’d have found something in DC that was right instead of just taking the first thing that was offered. I’d have been safely ensconced in that job and that home.  God damnit. But you can’t go home again. And so I’m here. For better or worse.

But it’s a Saturday, and I’m trying to put together a god damned job application, and I just cried my eyes out over a god damned song that reminds me how happy I was in my stupid job in Jersey.

And for the record, I am sick of being asked if I am “over educated” for the job described. I am NOT over educated. I am educated in a completely unrelated discipline. So take a chance on a girl who has changed her mind on ‘what do you want to do with your life’ about 1000 times because I will kick ass and take names on your behalf. I am AWESOME.

Please just trust me. Please.

So I got offered a job this week. Actually, the job offer was for the job I’ve been begging to have back almost since I moved here. Yeah, I got offered The-Job-That-Was.

Last February, when it turned out my replacement was not working out and they hired someone else, I called my Ex-Boss and joked “How was I NOT your first call?”

So, this time, he called me first. This was Monday night. So I said I’d give very serious consideration to coming back. But, I did have a job interview on Tuesday and moving back to Jersey would be quite the logistical nightmare.

It’s one of the harder decisions I’ve had to make. I’ve said it a million times, The-Job-That-Was changed — and saved — my life. After the horrible Job-That-Wasn’t, after that awful 2008 summer, the Job-That-Was was one the first thing I felt good about in a long time. It gave me this confidence I didn’t know I could possess, from the most mundane tasks like putting together binders to the important, like helping to figure out this nightmare billing thing with an outside counsel firm. My Ex-Boss and I hit it off right away, and with my Ex-Coworkers, once I got over the fact that they were actually being nice and not out to screw with my head (which was a huge problem at The-Job-That-Wasn’t) we got along great too.

I know I view The-Job-That-Was through rose-colored glasses, and there were things I was unhappy with there. And I know I certainly didn’t like feeling trapped in Jersey, feeling like a loser because I was living with my parents, feeling stuck, like I couldn’t move on or do anything because I didn’t want to over-establish a life in Jersey.

The-Job-That-Was was a very good place for exactly two years of my life. I was trusted and treated very well. My Ex Boss knows I’m a recovering alcoholic and a head case, so this job offer was huge. Whenever I talk to my Ex-Coworkers around quarterly meeting times they tell me they miss me. Good for the ego, which given my current level of self-hate probably needs a boost.

And I gave it a LOT of thought. But ultimately, taking this job back was not the right decision for me. I am JUST finally beginning to establish a life for myself in DC. Everyday is still a struggle, but that’s what medication, therapy, and SMART/We Agnostics are for.

I am determined to make things work here. And history has shown that when I’m determined to do something, I go after it full force. That’s how I got to NYC and that’s how I got to DC. Things are kind of un-pretty right now but I think I can make them better. I will exhaust every avenue of hope before I give up on this DC project.

So I turned the Job-That-Was down. Which, believe me, is the last decision I ever imagined making.

I love the internet because when I bitch about my unemployment I get messages from people who I’ve mostly never met telling me I do indeed have a safety net. Not that I don’t already have a safety net, because I know I could always, always go home to Jersey. But there is something crazy comforting about crazy people from all the way across the country, who have never met you and simply want you to be okay.

It’s weird. A few weeks ago, Mitch Albom published this article about a random guy who died in Michigan. He wasn’t unknown. He’s a guy I know from Message Board of Note. And without this article, I doubt we’d ever known. We knew he was sick, and he had said he’d let us known when it became Too Much, but it never came to that. We were all kind of shook up about it because the circumstances were Not Good. He was apparently homeless, died of lung cancer, and may or may not have had addiction issues. But what I heard over and over from people at Message Board of Note was ‘I wish we could have done something.’

Our contingent is very small. We are libertarians (already a small group) who are a break out group of libertarians because Hit and Run got too annoying for most of us. For me, I very rarely posted on H&R and by all rights should have never known about Message Board of Note. But I did. There’s about 50 of us who are active members. I’m barely an active member, but I’m a girl, and chick libertarians are easy to pull out of a crowd. It’s easy to pick me out anyway. I’m the brunette Jew who also has the drinking problem.

I’m the brunette Jewish girl who also has the drinking problem who has a few dozen random people on the internet who she has mostly never met in real life who would answer a phone call or email or text or facebook message. Although, come to think of it, I have met more of them than one would think, for a girl who has a low post count. And if any of them were to call out of the blue and say “Hi, I’m in DC and…” I’d help in a second.

My hair is usually a mess and my clothes are probably out of style and I’m 28 years old, out of work and careerless. But I can speed dial some guy I know from the internet, because he gives a damn about my state of mind. And considering how far off our area codes are from matching that’s pretty damn amazing.

So, thank you Internet.

This morning I sat frozen on my couch for three hours straight to work on ONE job application. Much of this was because my precious Mac possesses only a bootleg copy of Office (yes, I know I have to get myself Open Office) and I can’t convert Word to pdf. So, I was doing my resume in Google docs and than downloading it as a pdf and…formating FAIL. So frustrating.

There’s a few bloggers like Kim, Magnolia, eemusings, Carolyn and Jess who I actually used to keep up with and comment to. Just in case you didn’t know it, I think all you girls are awesome. Since being back, I’ve skimmed blog entries I’ve missed and thought of dozens of things I should write in response. I haven’t, but I have been thinking about you.

(Yes, Charlotte, you’re just special)

I have managed to deep clean my apartment. (I adore my roommate, and I’m not the neatest person myself, but the place was definitely a mess when I returned from six weeks away) And…I finished unpacking. Like, unpacking from the move unpacking. Yes, I realize I’ve lived here since September.

And when you’re unemployed, you can do things like meet a friend at B&N in the middle of the day or watch 90210 as you’re waking up and planning your day.  And you can experiment with cooking.

So I’m accomplishing things. Very slowly. It’d help my sanity a lot if I knew whether my unemployment would be approved, but I’ve been okay. I promise I’ll get more in touch with the world I left as much as I can. But probably, slowly.

(And though, I write it everyday. It isn’t black and white, but it’s everything but gray)

Almost two months ago, my hands were shaking so bad that I could barely dial my parents phone number.

I was so sick and so scared and so I just gave in. My mom asked me if I wanted them (my parents) to come down to DC and I when I said “yes” I realized it was exactly what I had to do. (Because yes, even when you are nearly 28 years old your parents are still your parents and yes I have the very best parents MOM, because I know you occasionally troll by this)

My hands continued to shake that bad. My parents did get down here, and I did get into ER but I couldn’t fill out my own admin paperwork. Days later, when I was trying to turn down one of the prescribed drugs, the nurse in the psych ward said I was still shaking. And then, my counselor at rehab (who is herself a long recovering alcoholic, and a former maintenance drinker, like I was) pinged me in about two seconds. I cried most of my first day in rehab. My poor parents did not really know what to do with me, especially since in the whole process of getting from the psych ward to the rehab I behaved like a complete baby. Yeah, on one hand I’m the most responsible alcoholic on the planet, because I looked up what rehabs my insurance would pay for long ago. But when I found out I had to go straight from the hospital to the rehab I freaked out.

Because I had, you know, normal adult things to do. Like pay my bills. Do you know what’s really not fun? Having to give all your login/password information to your father. Do you know what makes you really grateful? Having a parent who handles things for you. And lets not even go into the phone calls my dad made on my behalf with work and stuff. Let’s not talk about work in general. Remember, I used to work for an employment lawyer. So because I’m the most responsible alcoholic on the planet, I was extremely well informed about how companies can handle people like me. And what was especially funny is that at my now most recently former company, I was the one in charge of handling people like me. So they really, really did not know what had to be done with me.

Oh, and speaking of the weird time span, I got to inform almost no one I was giving up and getting my ass in rehab. I got to a few people before my parents got down to DC. Then, they snuck my cell phone into the psych ward and I got to a few more people. I didn’t do a good enough job.

But anyway, there I was in rehab, and yeah I freaked out the first couple days. I cried and I couldn’t help it; it was so annoying because I cried out of nowhere in front of the other girls.

Rehab for me was probably not what people traditionally go to rehab to do. I didn’t go in thinking I’d learn something new or get some new way of living out of the program. The rehab I went to, like almost all are, was very 12 step focused. They hauled us out every night to AA/NA meetings, organizations which I generally view as quite harmful.

I went to rehab because I desperately needed a jump start. I needed to be physically removed from my living environment. Because I was literally killing myself. Trust me. I was killing myself. I drank a bottle of vodka a day just to maintain. Every single morning I would wonder how the hell I was going to get through the day. That was my life, and it sucked, and yet I was too scared to just give in and do something about it.

So I took myself to the point where I didn’t have a choice anymore. I got into ER on a Sunday and there was no way I was capable of going into work on Monday.

I’ve only been back in DC about a week and a half and I don’t know exactly what I’m doing. But so far I’m forming a lot more semblance of a life than I ever had/attempted. I made a really good friend at rehab who kept me sane in that crazy house and who just understands me so well (she is also an alcoholic. While in rehab all addictions are treated equally, I strongly believe that there is something slightly, but fundamentally different between drug addicts and alcoholics. It may just be because our drug of choice is legal and thus the intensity is lessened. I don’t know.) I also met a girl in the psych ward; she’s not an addict, but she’s “C-R-A-Z-Y”  and we have so much to talk about.

It’s not alright but I’m okay. I’m still unemployed. And I still worry on a daily basis what people think of me. See, I really am CRAZY, because the people in my life have shown me nothing but love and support. I just want to be more than crazy and a drunk. So it kind of sucks right now because I’m trying to find a job and the reason I have to be looking for a job in the first place is because I’m crazy and a drunk.

But that’s that. That’s my story for the past two months.

Out of nowhere today, I remembered a comment that HWSNBN made to me once. It was December 2004 and I was high on life. “You know, things between us could have been quite different if you hadn’t been so melancholy last year,”  he said. (He was really, really good at breaking my heart)

What he meant, for those who have not been following my blogging for the EIGHT years it’s been around (I missed my blogging anniversary because I was drunk) was that I was weak because I couldn’t just ‘snap out of it’ when I was depressed and therefore was not together enough for him. And since my self-esteem wasn’t in very good shape, I spent a lot of time in the next few years trying to show how ‘together’ I was. Which is especially screwy considering HWSNBN wasn’t/isn’t even in my life.

I guess I thought of this because of something I heard at a SMART recovery meeting last week. SMART is very different from AA. In AA, you are defined by your alcoholism. In SMART your addiction is a problem but the philosophy is that we get better. That’s what someone said on Tuesday; we get better. (Coincidence to one of my favorite West Wing episodes?)

It gives me hope, because it reminds me I got better. More importantly, it reminds me I am NOT my alcoholism. The comment from HWSNBN was probably one of the most damaging things anyone has ever said to me, because he made me believe that I was my Depression. That that’s what defined me, and that no one could ever want to be with such a mess. I spent the next few years squashing down Depression, hiding it, believing that it made me deserving of shame. And then I spent a few years after that overcompensating for it; I wore my Crazy as a mask of sorts. I put it on full display and challenged the viewer to make something of it. I know I did that with OLB.

I truly believed that while Depression was real, I was only allowed a certain amount of help. I so strongly believed that my will was enough. I even expressed envy for those who were sicker than me, the people who could fall apart completely and get put back together, because I was too scared to fall apart.

So I quietly held it together. I think, to a degree, I’ve done the same with alcohol. Part of me just still hated myself too much for not being able to snap out of it. Because being a drunk is still a stigma. People understand, they do (and as I’ve mentioned many times, the people in my life are amazing. EVERYONE has been so supportive and wonderful and has just wanted to help) but there is that part of me that thinks they’re just humoring me and they think I’m weak and worthless and not worth knowing.

I was sober for 18 months. I worked so hard to get myself to DC. And even before that, I worked to get myself to my job through 8.5 months of no license, I worked at that attempt for the Libertarian Fellowship, I worked at being the best damn glorified secretary ever. How could I do all that and still not manage to keep myself together down here? I’ve been so ANGRY at myself, and I’m just seeing now how being angry just buys into the mistaken idea that I am my drinking. And I am NOT my drinking.

Yeah, I’m an alcoholic. I’m also pretty smart and can probably beat you in Trivial Pursuit. I don’t follow sports but I love cheesy sports movies, like Miracle and Angels in the Outfield. (Both will make me cry) I’m a libertarian and I’d love to tell you why libertarians are the awesomest political party on the planet. I’m a Jewish-Atheist. I can’t walk in heels and since I’m kind of a zaftig I don’t dig the skinny-jeans trend but I can look pretty cute in boot cut jeans. I know the lyrics to every Billy Joel song and I also like country music. I have pretentious degrees that I’ve never used. I still have no idea what I’m going to be when I grow up.

I am NOT my Depression. I am NOT my alcoholism.

Once upon a time, I was ‘stuck’ in Jersey with a ‘going nowhere’ job. I’d sell my my soul to have that life back, but hindsight is 20/20.

My Plan B to the ‘getting a job in DC’ meme was to work at said job through Feburary 2011, and then quit and just move to DC with no potential prospects.

If I’d done that, I’d have 6 months more of savings and perhaps would not have winded up in the perdicament of having the beast that is addiction creep up on me. I am only subscribing to the philosophy that everyting happens for a reason, because if I don’t I’ll get to angry at myself.

I would still give anything to have stuck to Plan B. But I didn’t. So now I’m back in DC, and it’s time to get a life. A life that is not just a job and a life that acknowledges but passes by the imperfections that make me, me.

I’m an anxious girl who bites her nails down to nothing. I fidget. I push my hair back behind my ears. I bite my lip.

Let’s make it clear: I fucked up. I’m a smart girl, capable of given the job(s) that were assigned to me. I didn’t (couldn’t?) do them.

My own head cases got in the way. For the record, it is not very intelligent to move to a new city, and start a new job (especially when a nagging voice in your head tells you not to take said job) and ignore that you still need all the avenues that got you healthy enough to even consider a job in a new city.

I spent a lot of time – a lot of wasted time – using defense mechanisms about Depression. I remember writing, years ago, one particularly intense (but never published) post about how I am NOT my Depression. Because at the time, I was such a mess, and I just wanted the guy I was stupidly involved with to realize that I was not C-R-A-Z-Y.

So here I am.

I wish I’d stuck with my old job in Jersey, but I didn’t so I have to get myself into the mindset (“take that word out in back and shoot it” -one of my favorite college professors) that this happened for a reason.

After nearly 6 weeks of being completely out of touch with the world, I’m back in DC. I’m okay. I’m better, even.

To clarify, I spent a week in a psych/detox ward and the rest of the time in an inpatient, all women’s rehab.

There is a lot I have to write about and a lot I want to say, but in the past few days I haven’t found a sufficient way to say it. So until then, I just wanted to say to the few still reading that I am okay, and for those I haven’t checked in with yet, you’re on my list.

I was still shaking and out of it last Friday when I met up with my two favorite-former-co-workers for lunch. After lunch (where I barely touched my food) I came back to the office to visit with random people I’d worked with.  It was awesome to see people. Are there words for how much I miss my old job? Probably not, and probably I’m wearing rose colored glasses, but I’d love to put an EBC binder together. At least I know I’m good at that. I’ve been told otherwise, but I think I’m fucking awful at my current job.

So, last Friday, my most favorite ex-coworker pulled me into the office she’d claimed for herself and told me to spill it.

“Sweetie, you’re shaking. And you look terrible. I’ve never seen you like this. Not when things were the worst here and not even when you first started and you were afraid of me.”

I sank down in the visitor’s chair and whispered a few things that were going on with me. She gave some feedback. She scolded. “Maybe DC is just not right for you?” she asked.

“Maybe.” Maybe. Maybe this move was a mistake. Maybe. I live under a flight path in DC, did I ever mention that? From my bedroom window, I can see the flights lining up to land. I don’t know why I find romanticism in this, but I do.

I’m the baby of the group of former co-workers. Intentional or not, they looked out for me, and still do. How did I get so lucky? The-Job-That-Was remains one of the best things that ever happened to me. When I say that job saved my life I’m not exaggerating. It gave me purpose, and it gave me confidence. I didn’t know I was so capable until my first week there my boss handed me a random spreadsheet, and unknown to me, expected just an easy Excel formula. I, thinking something much more complex was required, fussed around with it and figured out a way to automatically get updates on currency conversions. And then after that there was this big project with an outside law firm and I kicked ass, took names, and that’s why my status changed from temp to perm. My current job has not afforded me the opportunities to show I’m awesome. So. Shrug.

One week later, I’m out with current co-workers, and it’s practically a waste of my time. Oh, and also, Cute-IT-Boy is gay, head meet desk. Normally, my gaydar is quite good, but apparently when a Libertarian is involved it malfunctions. See also, extremely-cute-but-also-gay-libertarian boy from UChicago. Friday was a total failure. This guy referenced Milton Friedman! I totally swooned. Yes, it is probably fucked up that that is what gets me to swoon, but there it is. Arg. I had figured that he was gay because he is way to well dressed to not be, but he wasn’t pinging my gaydar. Not. Fair.

It’s around 6:40am. There is still the hum of airplanes overhead, and now there are stupid birds starting to chirp.

I miss New Jersey and my old job. I don’t want to go home, I want to stick it out here. But I don’t know if I can. I am so freaking emo.

Seven years ago, I walked out on a life I had no right to walk out on. Every year on this day, I think about it, although the memory has gotten blurry. Today’s his birthday too, because yes, I am the bitch who broke up with my boyfriend of 4+ years, on his birthday.

I almost never think about him. Even though we forged that bizarre and inappropriate friendship for awhile four year ago. Even though we now live in the same city (as far as I know) and I could run into him because DC is a tiny place.

Once upon a time, I did love The Ex more than I’ve ever loved anyone. And so it’s weird to simply not care. I don’t hate him, at all, even though I suspect he hates me, if that. In reality, it is more likely that he never thinks about me and that he’s indifferent to me. And that’s okay too. Because what am I going to do about it? This is when I shrug and toss my hair over my shoulders. As far as I know, he still has the same girlfriend and he’s happy with her, and you know what? That’s okay with me. He should be happy.

But still, seven years. Where the hell does time go? Where the hell did my life go? In those seven years I have lived like a rock star in NYC, been a grad student at University of freaking Chicago, lived in NYC again, lived in NJ and now, wound up in DC. I am by no means the same person I was seven years ago when I walked out of that apartment and drove back to Saratoga Springs.

The girl who managed to do that was brave. I am not.

.

I know every back road in Bergen County. I know more trivia than you. I hate my hair, but I wear it long just because.

Because my best friend has driven me all over Bergen County, is the only person who can beat me in Trivial Pursuit, and is the only person who will tell me I look awful with short hair. (Other people would always tell me it was cute. In retrospect, it totally wasn’t.)

When I’m with Brent, I never ever have to explain myself.

He is my best friend, the most trusted person in my life, and my first call.He knows me better than anyone in the world. He can discern my state of mind from a sentence that’s completely unrelated to anything I’m feeling. We speak to each other in a language that other people don’t understand.

He is the person in my life who never lets me down, even though I’ve let him down. He is my BEST friend, when I probably don’t deserve it. From hundreds of miles away, he still (along with Joe, who is thousands of miles away) just takes care of me. Like, oh, Rachel is having a rough time right now, lets make sure she’s okay. He watches out for me, and neither of us would admit it.

So while I’m here, in this strange city where I know almost no one, at the end of the day I come home and talk to him. Because what else would I do? He makes me laugh about dumb things that I can’t even begin to explain to you and he understands my sadness even when I don’t. When I go home over President’s Day weekend, we’ll go to a random diner one night and we’ll talk about things, and really, there is no need to talk about these things because he already knows all the words I’m going to vent.

With some friends, like Michael, I’m tactile and we hug a lot. With some, I’m more openly affectionate (Jill-IAN and I exchange ‘I love you’s all the freaking time when we’re together). Brent and I have hugged maybe a dozen times. We’ve said “I love you” maybe half of that. But there is no one else on the planet who can finish the sentences I haven’t even started.

It’s nearly 9am and I am on my couch, making myself purposefully late for work since I was there until 9PM last night.

There are no words for how much I miss my old job. And also, I know it’s not as bad as it could be. It could be The-Job-That-Wasn’t, and then it would be REALLY bad. But I miss my old job, and it’s been 5 months now, so I should just get the hell over it and push forward.

But I do miss my old job. And coworkers. And bosses.

DC is lonely, that’s what it is. And since I’m all career driven and over achiever, I tend to find satisfaction in a job. So while that isn’t happening, I’m not sure what to do. I fix computers and flirt with cute IT boys and I have no idea how that became the extent of my ‘career’. Not that my old job was hurtling towards anything real either, but I can only think of two occasions in two years where my last job made me cry. Yeah, I’m pretty sure my boss knew I cried which is spectacularly unprofessional, but whatever.Me and my constantly messed up hair are never ever going to be the picture of professional. Anyway, the point is that that’s a pretty good track record. Last week, I closed my office door and cried 3 times in one day. Maybe I should just learn to cry less, but yeah, there were things bringing me to tears.

And I should go to work now.

Do you know what’s weird? Watching Season 1 of Dawson’s Creek. I was a freshman in high school when Joey was hopelessly crushing on Dawson. While I  later wised up and came around to Pacey > Dawson, this was still Season 1 and so I watch these episodes, and it makes so much sense.

I get her crush, I get the torture, and even though if we’re speaking canon,  I now hate Dawson, I swoon, somewhat, over every little bit of ‘this may turn into something.’ Because I, like many 15 year olds, once upon a time, lived it. A lot of us did.

Dawson’s Creek was fraught with overwrought dialogue, but I loved it, because in the early days (before Pacey got into Boiler Room tactics, before Dawson actually got to Hollywood, before Joey Potter developed The It) it was painfully realistic. Any anyone my age who says otherwise is lying

Actually, I have no clue why. It started with a couple songs from Cold Spring Harbor in my head. (For the record “You Look So Good To Me.”) And now I’m okay with the entire collection being back on my iPod. “Everybody Has a Dream” was declared the soundtrack of my life for a week or so.

After more than two years, I can listen to Billy Joel again. And I really, really do not know why.

To, you all

If you’re reading this, you’re either blog-stalking me, or you’re on my short list of “People I Actually Care About.” And if it’s the latter, keep reading for a minute, because. Because I said so, and I’m bossy. 

You are incredible people. You have to know that. You have made me smile on some of my worst days. You have brought me to tears simply because you are awesome, and you let me see that. Really, you have no idea how much better my life is, because of you. I am thankful every single day, because you are in my life. You have humbled me, and given me faith in humanity with your support. I’m a drunk, and I’m a mess, and I’m a drama queen but not one of you has turned your back on me. Every single one of you has asked what you could do. Without any qualms, you have been there for me. You have responded to my emails, taken my phone calls, and once, when I lamented that 13 days was so little time, one of you told me “That’s well over 300 hours, and if you count them all up individually, that’s quite a lot.” This factoid, btw, was reported to me by someone I’ve never met in real life. You have all made it impossible for me to doubt that people care about me. ”If drama were an Olympic Sport, you’d win a gold medal,” one of you lovingly told me a few years ago. And that’s true enough. Again, I am a mess. I don’t even cry pretty. And yet, you are all still here. Which basically means you are the coolest people on the planet, and I have no idea what I did to deserve you in my life.

  Because of you, there are days that I walk around with a confidence I didn’t know I possessed. Because of you, I still remember how to tilt my chin and raise my eyebrows. Because of you, no matter how bad things get, I am going to beat this, damnit. Because of you, I laugh at the craziest of things. Because of you, there’s this random song that I never would have liked, but when I hear it, I think about you, and I smile. Because of you, I know without a doubt there is someone in my corner. Because of you, I got myself a job in DC.  Because of you, I believe that 2011 is going to be good.

I love you all, a whole lot, and I want all of you to have nothing but the best in the New Year.

-All the best,

Rachel

Leo, To Josh: This guy’s walking down a street when he falls in a hole. The walls are so steep, he can’t get out. A doctor passes by, and the guy shouts up, “Hey you, can you help me out?” The doctor writes a prescription, throws it down in the hole and moves on. Then a priest comes along, and the guy shouts up “Father, I’m down in this hole, can you help me out?” The priest writes out a prayer, throws it down in the hole and moves on. Then a friend walks by. “Hey Joe, it’s me, can you help me out?” And the friend jumps in the hole. Our guy says, “Are you stupid? Now we’re both down here.” The friend says, “Yeah, but I’ve been down here before, and I know the way out.”

-The West Wing (Noel)

My iPod hit “Long December” at some point on the drive down on Sunday.

Long December, and there’s reason to believe/Maybe this year will be better than the last.

December truly has been the longest month. It’s been pretty brutal since Thanksgiving and not-so-hot since I moved down here.

But then, 2010 hasn’t been a bad year. In fact, the first 9 months should mark it as one of the better years. There is no doubt my rose colored glasses are in full force, but I don’t think I’m being delusional. Despite my existential angst about wanting something “more” I was happy, in my own twisted way. I loved my old job, for what it was. I had my best friends a 2 minute drive away. I was safe.

I don’t want to dwell anymore on what I left behind to come down here. In some ways, its similar to how I left my incredible life in NYC for University of Chicago. I didn’t do it for happiness, I did it because it was the Right Thing. I didn’t take advantage of any of the opportunities that year at UChicago afforded me (mainly because I was busy being a drunk) and I still regret it.

I don’t want to do the same thing here. I live in Washington DC. There are one hundred things to do if I’d just widen my range beyond the path between the bus and my office. I can straighten my hair, wear prettier clothes, and maybe learn to walk in heels.

All of this speaks to my desire to be Rebecca, and not Rachel. Although speaking about an alter-ego in a blog post does not exactly help with the sanity front.

I cannot believe that I have done this seven times, and yet, here it is. I’m too old to be doing something like this, probably, but I can’t NOT at this point, after so many years of completing this stupid survey.

2009
2008
2007
2006
2005
2004

It’s hard to accurately speak of this year, when the past four months are such a stark contrast to the first eight. I spent much of this year complaining of career angst (“I’m never going to be anything other than a glorified secretary”) and figuring out a way to get to DC. Well, I figured out a way to get to DC, and I miss my glorified secretary job a whole lot, and every single bit of DC has been a struggle. Does four months cancel out eight months? Because for eight months, I was all angsty about my career, but I was happy.

Regardless. I will say this: 2010 was quite a year.

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I’ve been trying to write something all day, but seriously, this is what it comes down to:

I really wish I could quit my job and move back home. That’s not a realistic solution, and I know it sounds incredibly dramatic, but I just want to go home.