Walked into the office five years ago today. Time for some Little River Band …
This is our fifth year baby
And I feel like I’m in jail, Lord
I’m holding on to this card
Can’t seem to get it in the mail
And the card reads …
Happy anniversary baby
Got you on my mind
Happy anniversary baby
Got you on my mind
At the time, I was most excited at the prospect of getting paid biweekly again after 11 months of sweating every cent.
That’s the thing abut low expectations. It was more like a series of pleasant surprises than crushing disappointments. Which was a welcome change.
It’s a coin-flip whether the other opportunities I sought heard about along the way would have panned out.
Maybe the hot Italian with the chiseled jaw isn’t the marrying type after all, but the less-exciting guy takes care of you better because he knows you can leave him for the better-looking, richer one who sweeps you off your feet.
Look at all the people who have come and gone in that time, after all. Many have gone on to better things. Some are still searching.
I could have landed in either camp, or back in the “Hey I’ll write you a book for 250 bucks” zone because another client screwed me and I was desperate.
Standing at the sink now, looking at the mirror
Don’t know where I am or how I got here
Well the only thing that I know how to find
Is another vice
Here’s to the devil you know. This one at least will drink some whiskey with you. And not tell anyone the next morning how you skulked out of there all Miranda Lambert “Vice”-like. So, there’s that.