We Can Live Beside The Ocean

Ah yes, I have to admit it feels like that warm rush you get when you drink good scotch on a winter's eve. It's the mental equivalent of that melting, fluttering-of-the-eyes inducing sweetness from the first taste of dark forest chocolate (or a fucking good smack hit). Yes, Marty Stark is making money and it feels so good.

I have this weird knack for getting gigs whenever I need the cashish (though admittedly, once I get the gig is a different matter). The rest of my life may be one bad drama, what with stalkers, bad affairs, fluffchicks and the general LA crapola, but my gig finding luck is one that seems to be scary good. Moved up to Silicon Valley without a gig from law school, ended up with a six figure gig at Biglaw a month later. First Biglaw screwed me, moved to a better paying and more prestigious Biglaw. Quit Biglaw, took a year off, moved back down to LA, found a new gig in less than a month. That piece of shit gig got too crazy, started life as a contract attorney. When my first contract gig dissolved, got hired at double the rate by one of the attorneys that left. When a certain, ahem, someone and I got involved, managed to find yet another contract gig in less then a month. And now, when I finished the first draft of the novel and needed to shore up reserves, got this gig in two weeks.

Oh yeah, and I got the rate I wanted, plus I have my own office with an ocean view. And the building is the last office building before the Pacific Ocean. Now if I can only (1) figure out how to revise the novel and (2) get this luck to friggin' spill over into the rest of my life.