Holy SHIT!

I have a job!

That's right - a JOB.

I am the new managing editor of a small health-related scientific journal based in DC.

I awoke at noon to the sound of "Dirt Off Your Shoulders" blaring from my cell phone. Groggy, I knocked the 5 or 6 books off my nightstand in the process of picking up the phone. It was the woman with whom I had interviewed a mere 2 days ago. She extended me a job offer, I shook my head back and forth a few times to make sure I was actually awake, and then I promptly accepted. Right after I hung up, I leapt out of bed and tripped over the huge pile of crap that has accumulated on my floor, bruising my foot. Regardless of the minor injury, I proceeded to do the "Fuck yes, I have a job!" dance (it's too complicated to fully outline here - let's just say it involves a lot of uncoordinated arm flapping, cabbage patching, pelvic thrusting, and a few touches of the running man). Then I got on Craigslist and started looking for a place to live.

I go in for a few days next week to train with the current editor, then they said they'd give me a week or so to do some apartment/house-hunting.

Squee!