I'm so happy, I could puke

A few days before I met Pickle, I wrote a blog about the smoke from the Everglades and how even though you could barely see a few houses away - everything seemed so clear.

As I walked, I contemplated how quickly time passes and how ten years from that moment I'd still be walking Riley, but maybe down a different block while my kids ran around the house and my husband tried to coral them.

I had a clear idea of where my life was headed. I was financially secure, stable. I'd finished school. Gotten the starter jobs. Moved on to better ones. I was ready, or so I soon came to realize, to do away with the starter guys. Move on to something that could be a forever.

Maybe Pickle just happened to be the guy I was dating at that moment of zen.

But ever since we moved and he did a 180 into a complete jerk, a fog has settled down. Perhaps that's why I felt so Centrailia. I felt like the floor had opened up and smoke was blinding me. I was suffocating in the domesticity I'd invited into my life.

After I got home from work today, I got the call. The job in NY is mine. Suddenly everything seems to have fallen into place. The fog has lifted because everything is clear.

I know what I want.

I want to start this job. Find myself a cute little studio. Walk Riley. Cut up hotdogs and wave them frantically while trying to get him to roll over. I want to drink wine and eat pizza while I watch House. I want to walk on the boardwalk. Have my cousin cut my hair again. Sit around at family BBQs. Take the train into the city to see a play and have a few drinks. Go meet my college roomie's new baby.

But mostly, I want to laugh. I want to feel like the world is mine again. Like opportunity is lurking around each corner. Like I'm young and free and with the world at my feet. And I do. Finally.

I'm so happy, I could puke. Really.