Sure Enough

My dad used to tell me a story about a man, sitting sadly on a bench, alone. Another man sat beside him and said, “Cheer up, things could be worse.” The man cheered up and, “Sure enough, things got worse.” In the past few years I lost my parents, my pussycat, and a fantastic apartment. I moved from Pennsylvania to NYC to start a new life, despite warnings from friends (“You’re crazy”). On my birthday, I decided that I was almost happy for the first time in quite awhile. I gave up my search for better living accommodations and was okay with keeping my miniscule but affordable apartment in the city (a/k/a ”closet-sized dump”) for another year, while I saved some money. I was thankful that I still had my job, which I loved. Sure enough. . . two days later, my company closed down and I faced unemployment. Worse than unemployment, I had to resort to my dreaded plan B: to return to the practice of law and experience the miserable existence of a NY trial attorney. I would have been on vacation this week from my former (dream) job. Then I was forced to take a health-related leave of absence. The doctor warned that if I continued down the road as a NY trial lawyer, I'd probably have a heart attack. Eventually, I found a slightly less stressful job. Once again, I was starting over. I helped a former co-worker get a job at my new company, thinking she’d be terrific. Sure enough, she’s in way over her head. My boss is unhappy, and I’m stuck hearing her complain in an undecipherable mumble. So much for helping others. It’s one hundred degrees outside, and humid. The inside of my oven is cooler. (Well,it would be if I ever used it). Today’s excitement: frozen yogurt at Bloomingdales. I almost passed out getting there. The air conditioning inside Bloomies created polar arctic condition, which, combined with rapid consumption of regular size Frozen Yogurt (enormous), and subsequent sighting of butt (also enormous-how could that possibly be mine? AUGGGH!)in bedding department's mirror made me shiver. Too cold to stay in the store and shop, I ran outside and almost passed out again. Back at office, my pinky is numb. Did I have a stroke? Am I turning into Woody Allen? Will I continue to live the Seinfeld version of the city? Will I turn into a Real Housewife, marry a cross-dresser, write a terrible book, sing off-key, and humiliate myself on Bravo? [Heaven forbid]. One thing’s for sure: my NY experiences (past, present and future, complete with sarcasm), will be revealed here. I write to keep my sanity. . . stay tuned.