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11.2.02 I Will Survive

Maria and I won t-shirts at a bar last night for dancing our hearts out to "I Will Survive." I was disappointed: they were gray with a Miller Lite logo where a breast pocket might have been.

"Lite?" I said. "LITE!?" If it couldn't say Dancing Queen or Superstar, couldn't it at least say Mega?

The week started out badly. I was forced to give up the Information department I'd nurtured for more than 20 years. The Boss fell victim to some nasty internal politics and Maria and I both got caught in the crossfire. Monday was bad: hush-hush meetings that rudely left me out and a confrontation with the Boss. Tuesday I wore my high heels, a drop-dead gorgeous sweater dress, and a big smile to work -- sorry, I wasn't going to play the Loser. Wednesday, the Boss met with me to "get us back on track with each other." I was sick of processing. "Let's just talk about the work. I have some interesting projects here..." And we talked. And then I talked with the guy who took Information from me. I will not be silenced, I'd decided.

Living well is the best revenge. I've always liked that quip. If the institution feeds on politics and distorted information, if ambition and arrogance spawn bad decisions, let them all rot. I've got better things to do.

And so, by last night I was partying. Assorted fun lovers -- with mates, without mates -- gathered for beer and loud live music. I was getting ready to head out when Maria, her fiancÚ, another couple, and a woman who'd left her husband home with the kids convinced me to follow them to a new bar for nachos. Turns out that bar was also rockin'-and-a-reelin' with live music. The hours of sipping beer had its effect of turning everything to a smoky shimmer. We danced. I will survive.

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