I've never had one of those unhealthy long-term relationships...But I get it now, I really do. I am to this desk, this chair, this file cabinet as Amy Winehouse is to Blake Fielder Civil. I might as well invest in a pair of toe shoes and get an anchor tattooed on my bicep. I am her.
I've stayed here too long and am past my expiration date. Every morning I lie in bed and think of the Thriller video. I picture heaving a heavy stone lid off my coffin and staggering into the gloom wearing a dirty Van Heusen business skirt. You're getting back out there! Gasp, I almost let them bury me.
Alas, I don't accept the funk of forty thousand years as my fate. I know I have to face my Blakey. And, lest you think I should die an early death from employment co-dependence, let me tell you this: we've been told the end is near. Time to replace my toe shoes with resume paper, it seems. I am, yes, getting back out there.
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