Falling Up

It was just under a year ago that, fed up with the asshole I worked for and the abuse he meted out for $30,000 a year, I walked out of his rinky dink firm, with nothing but 2 months rent in my bank account, admission to the New York Bar, my ipod, a pack of cigarettes and a dream.
That dream was to open a chain of Rice Krispie Square Stands across Manhattan. That dream, sadly, was never to be realized.
Cut to February. Somehow I was hired for a 3 month position that paid roughly two and half times my old salary with full benefits. Plus no psychological abuse.

I was a bit shaky that it was only a temp position, but then I was about to start hunting pigeons on my building's roof for dinner, so who was I to argue?
Two months into my new position I played hookey in order to spend a day with Bartender, whom I was dating at the time. When I returned to the office the next day , I got a message that I had been taken on full time at the firm. Salary in tact, no limit on my contract term. Sweet.
A month later, while drunk at a happy hour for my team which only 4 of us attended, I met my superiors, who promoted my gin soaked ass on the spot to a position of relative importance on the case. Lots of responsibility. Lots of face time with superiors. No more money. But it was a chance to make a little more noise for myself, so I took it.
And then a month ago an ex-coworker of mine called me in the office. She had made the move to another firm, and had jumped in both position and salary. She told me that there was an opening, and that she had recommended me, as she had apparently always thought highly of me and that my talents and intelligence (her words, I swear) were wasted in my current position as lead document monkey.
So I submitted. I interviewed last Wednesday. I was hired given an offer on Friday. I accepted about an hour ago.
What does this mean for our hero kids? It means lots more money. It means the chance to be a real lawyer and use my brain (now worth roughly $200,000 in education loans, minus wear and tear from drugs and alcohol). It means the chance for advancement. It means a secretary of my very own (Small moment of geek joy there. Ok, It's passed.) It means a wall on which to hang my law school diploma. It means I can pay a LOT of bills. It means I can start living a little differently. It means I am signing away my life and will not be around very much for the next few months and will most likely cut back on blogging. It means that I have to prove myself, because the chair of the firm told me that they are taking a chance on me and will not hesitate to fire me if I'm not up to task. It means I have to do well by the ex (and once again current) coworker who not only clued me in on the job, but flattered me beyond belief by writing an incredibly complimentary letter on my behalf.
It means that after 3 years of law school, a year of toiling as a Soulless Fuckwad's indentured servant and whipping boy, a brief tango with unemployment, and 9 months as a glorified secretary, I'm going to actually start doing what I'm trained to do. And have the opportunity to sacrifice my life, friends, social skills, health and general well being for a six figure salary. It means that sometimes, barely competence level performance can be rewarded. Repeatedly (Four More Years, Anyone?)
To someone who once was rejected for school loans, lived off popcorn, snuck airline bottles of booze into a bar so he could drink, and thought he'd never see the word "Associate" after his name, it means quite a bit.
It means I have one more excuse to get drunk beyond all comprehension tonight.
Bottoms Up, Bitches!