I got a job.
It's downtown. The entire thing is an entertaining entourage of experiences:
I ride a train. I walk 15 minutes to this train. I get off at Union Station. I fight through mobs of people in the morning. I walk another 10 minutes to work. I pass the Sears Tower (or the "what you talkin' 'bout Willis tower). I turn at the Lyric Opera House and head down Madison. I find my high-rise (see picture to the left). I swipe my security card to enter the elevators and ride up to the 33rd floor. I walk to my cubicle, pass the by the solid glass windows that look down upon the city streets where the cars look like toys. I sit and work on designing marketing material for my team of brokers. I take a lunch break at 1. I get coffee and a little snack. I sit outside. I sometimes walk to Macy's and get my makeup done. I briskly walk back. I chat with the techies. (I find coding and vector explanations highly interesting.) I leave early, or sometimes late. I ride the train home and walk another 15 minutes to my apartment. It's a good gig.
It's an adjustment, I'll admit it. I work in an office with nearly 100 people (most under 30). I cried the first day at home. I cried the second day on my walk home. I cried the third day on the train. I cried the fourth day walking to the train.
I'm full of resistance.
I'm out of my element, but maybe that's a good thing. Maybe I need to be extracted away from that normal I cling to.
And maybe that little girl who saw herself living in a high-rise overlooking the ocean, was actually imagining herself working a high-rise overlooking the lake. Clearly, it's close.
The highlight of my last week...
I've been having to walk my dog late in the evening. The neighbor kids are always playing soccer in the alley. They love to pet my dog. Ah, kids... are so freaking adorable. There's a little four year old who goes crazy over Grace, he jumps up and down when she tries to lick his face. I wish I could bottle that kind of happiness. The story is out, I absolutely love kids. It's one of those things I don't want people to know, like my love for cooking. Maybe it's the feminist in me that likes to keep that under wraps. Next thing you know, people *cough family *cough, start expecting you to behave like a woman who starts popping out babies and cooking dinner for her man. #idontwannagetfat
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