Life: a work in progress

I was twenty two years old when I met Michael. I was in my final year of a bachelor's degree in journalism at Loyola University Chicago and an active senior columnist for the university newspaper. Life was good. I had close friends, wonderful parents, great grades, and a fairly suburban-metropolitan future waiting ahead for me.

I guess what I'm trying to explain is that Michael didn't come and rescue me from a miserable, boring life. He stepped into a work in progress. Or maybe I stepped out of it? Hindsight is twenty-twenty, they always say.