Writing at the office while not wearing underwear.

Last night I cried myself to sleep while listening to the Annie soundtrack on Spotify.  Little orphan Annie sang "The sun will come out tomorrow," and I assured myself that such a moment of giving into my sadness was entirely deserved.   I hadn't cried in a couple months, in spite of things seeming to fall increasingly downhill in my life.  And while growing up means learning to toughen up, I feel that having learned that lesson affords one the privilege of acknowledging that sometimes it really is that bad.  Sometimes it's perfectly acceptable to be sad.  Sometimes you want to wrap your sadness around you like a blanket.  The trick is to remember that you have to get out from under those covers, get out of bed and get going again in the morning.  I think that's the difference between reasonable sadness and plain old self-pity.   Self-pity can be tempting though. It's a very reliable friend.  It's always there for you.  
I quit my job in December after a certain incident of waking up after the office Christmas party with fingerprint shaped bruises on my hips and thighs and no memory of what had happened.  First I worked from home for a while, then I didn't work at all and just focused on finishing my thesis and graduating with my MFA.  Since then I've been working a mindless, under-paid job at a large marketing company in Midtown.  I spend eight hours a day, five days a week, copy editing employee handbooks and auditing employee stock options.  Unlike my last job, there is no one screaming at me, offering me money to flash them my breasts, or cocking their head to the side to watch me walk across the office---but this new job still isn't right.  Sometimes I feel like Goldilocks, only instead of three bears and bowls of oatmeal, I have jobs and none of them have yet to be just right.
I don't tell most people the real reason I quit my old job because it sparks a lot of questions that I don't want to have to answer.  I've gotten so used to telling the lie about how I just wanted time to focus on my thesis, that sometimes I forget it's a lie and I find myself smiling and thinking of how brave and driven I am.  But then, like yesterday, the truth comes barreling back towards me on that seemingly ever-downhill slide.  I've applied to countless jobs.  I go on several interviews a week.  I now own three suits.  And I've mastered the understated pearl earrings and ponytail professional look.  But it's not due to some sort of ambition or bravery, it's because someone hurt me and I felt I had to change my own life in order to get away from what had happened.    
And the reality of being an adult who is sometimes allowed to be sad and listen to Annie and cry is that you have to realize that there is no reward for going through hard times.  Sometimes there is just more hard times.  Sure, I would like a decent job that is neither entirely soul-crushingly mindless nor something that requires me to bite my lip and accept a certain amount of sexual harassment.  But in the meantime, I have the consolation prize of having learned some life lessons through the clarity that hard work and tears have given me.  I've learned that after everything I've been through, I don't want to have anyone in my life who only wants to be with me when it's convenient.  Life is not convenient.  Caring about people is not convenient.  You don't get what you want by only working for it when you feel like it.  You get it by working for it when all you really feel like doing is laying in bed watching Netflix and eating ice-cream and feeling sorry for yourself.  If I can work hard for the things I want in my life, then I only want to be with someone who wants me enough to work hard for me.   
In the meantime, I have another job interview tomorrow, several hours of work left today, and "It's a hard knock life" stuck in my head.  And even though I'm not wearing underwear under my suit because I didn't have time to wash any, I'll be okay.