A year and a half ago I moved to DC. I had no job, no house, and, as I found out two weeks later, no school to go to. I was able to find a house and a job in two days. I had to move to a new place last year (the house you stayed in, @_refugee!@) and despite having a job, had to put myself seriously in debt to stay alive. I was supposed to get a raise in October, but that did not come.

Until this Friday.

So, on Valentine's Day, I get to get my first paycheck where I feel comfortable again. I will be able to pay off some debts, make my landlord happy with on-time payments, and best of all, I'll finally be able to eat again. With very rare exceptions, I have only eaten when my boss bought lunch for me at work every day, and small snacks I could grab at a gas station. We're going to have fresh snow here, up to ten inches even, I'll have money, and I'm taking arguewithatree to dinner at a very fine Russian restaurant with a set menu including red caviar and champagne.

I'm proud that I implanted myself in my job to a degree that, in just over a year, I was able to make myself invaluable to my bosses and the heads of other departments, enough that they've all gone to bat for me even when it put themselves at risk (so really I'm more proud of the people I work worth than anything); have a new position created for me specifically; and be on track to co-head the department when one of my bosses leaves next year, despite my sadness over that because we've become good friends in the time since. And I finally, finally have a livable wage to prove it.

P.S. Usually the inexplicable bruises on the backs of my hands are from my throwing my hand up in my sleep, and it hits the wall. I wish I knew what dreams prompted it.