If Disco Fever Is Wrong, I Don't Wanna Be Right

I have been unemployed for seven weeks now, and yet somehow I just don't care. I went through the agony of losing a job I loved (unexpected "restructuring" is the absolute best), the depression of wondering whether my career is over thanks to this sudden brick wall, and the identity crisis inherent in not being "editor for the Blah Blah Institute at Blah University" anymore. But I'm over it. Now I'm just waiting to see how my life's gonna turn out.

I grow weary of this provincial lifestyle, anyways. I told my husband I wish I could be a New York socialite, go to parties all the time and just dance, dance, dance.

He said, "Yeah, and in a few years you'd be sick, get fat, and die."

And I thought to myself, "Hmph! I would not get fat!" Besides, who cares. I want to dance.