Posted on February 12, 2009


Shortly after I got back from my vacation in Kuwait, I was tipsily sitting around with all my friends and I was happy. I said to them (it must have been apropos of something, I’m not one to burst into unsolicited introspection): “This is exactly how I hoped my life would be at 26.”

“Really?” said Spaz in puzzlement.

I thought. “Well, except for the job of course.”

So I quit. This is my last magazine issue. The thought is as a sweet morsel I roll under my tongue. I hope never to open another magazine again, although I hope to one day regain my pleasure in writing. Yes, I know it was an act of supreme foolhardiness to quit any job in this economy (as even my gynecologist felt the need to tell me at what I thought was a particularly inappropriate and rather painful point of my check up. No one should hear career advice issuing from their loin region.) I am well aware that I am a spoiled and privileged miss who doesn’t have the will power to make the best of her opportunities. But I just couldn’t do it anymore, and I’m pretty sure I’ll find another job. Something legal. Let me know if you hear of anything.

By the way, don’t you believe this post, the column: I’m nowhere near as despondent as all that, and at least three of my friends are actually moving back to Egypt. It was just a gimmick.

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