Because we all know how I feel about New York City…

Ok, so here’s the thing (few things…) After a ripper breakdown on Tuesday I wrote my life a letter that sounded something like this.

Dear Life

Why can’t I have a job in New York City? And if you won’t let me have a job in New York City, you should really at least give me a halfway decent one in Melbourne – to tide me over. I have sincerely appreciated my many weeks of sashaying the planet and hustling five dollars here and twelve cents there, but for real… if poverty claims the small amount of sanity I possess, I’m concerned it is going to have detrimental effects my writing. And while a certain amount of madness enhances my prose, sleeping in the street is going to make it difficult to charge my laptop.

Love, gretchen

Wednesday and Thursday two different businesses in Oz phoned me in for interviews next week saying very nice things like, ‘We would like to call you “Writer” and pay you decent dollars to scribble various shaped alphabetic combinations on whatever days you choose, come talk to us.’

Then this morning I received an email from someone in New York City saying, ‘Hi. Remember when we hired that other person instead of you? We changed our mind. Let’s talk.’

So there you have it. Someone definitely said New York City. Just the sound of the four syllables perked me up nearly as good as a dirty grey goose martini with two blue cheese olives on a Friday afternoon.

And if New York City still refuses to negotiate my demands at this stage, two writing jobs just might appease me for a hot minute.

… perhaps.