30 Days of Night in Charleston: three.

"So, how does this affect you?" the receptionist at the radio station where I also work asked me.

I sighed and explained the whole thing, as best I understood it and what was probably going to happen.

"That's awful," she said.

And I shrugged. I didn't want her to feel bad about it.

So, I said, "Well, I don't know how this is going to work out, but I've been through this before.

"Four years ago, I had a pretty lousy summer, too. I'd just bought a house and then my wife left me. Aside from the obvious thing, like getting kicked to the curb, I was horrified that I wouldn't be able to keep the house, that it would be too much for me to carry."

I remembered worrying about food, about keeping the lights on, about making sure everything was taken care of. Back then, I'd imagined living on the street by Christmas.

I told her, "But here I am, four years later. I kept the house and while I got my heart broke, I met someone amazing a few months later. My life changed completely and I couldn't imagine going back to what things were like before.

"I really hope that whichever way it goes with the job, that something better comes out of it."

She nodded and I went on, pointlessly. I was on a roll.

"Maybe it's cyclical with me, I don't know," I said. "Maybe there's a huge blow-up every four years for me, around this time. I just need to plan for it and be out of the way of whatever karmic meteor is coming my way next time.

"I could go to Antarctica."

She smiled, but had no idea what I was talking about; neither did I, really.

"I hope it turns out for you," she said.

I nodded and then went through the door to the take my place at the microphone to read cards and weather.

The morning host, who'd heard about half of that, said, "You seem like you're handling this pretty well."

I laughed and told her, "I'm a complete wreck."