Yep. Life is good, especially if you're keen on waking up and going to work, only to find, day after day, an actual physical reaction to nothing, that happens at about eleven every day and never really gets soothed, sort of a sweaty palms, rock in the bottom of my stomach feeling that finds me going out for a smoke every half hour or so and watching the streets like a hawk, head dizzy, stomach turned, looking for what? you? Salvation in the form of Jesus Christ walking out of National Geographic holding a boombox playing classic jazz? nervous on the elevator, I know the awkward conversation so far in advance, I know how I will stare until you look up and I clumsily focus on those buttons, 2-beep, 3-beep; thank God! but those butterflies persist, no matter life is good, so damn good that I'm checking my email every two minutes for what? a surprise? a free trip? I really couldn't tell you what this office means to me, what the idea of the subway later today does to me, the idea of that conversation happening, or not happening, all over again, day after day, ad infinitum, who could fucking ask for anything more.