I’m going home.
This is not what I wanted, and it’s stressing me the fuck out.
But it’s okay in many ways. I miss Abby. And Charlie. I miss Izzy, and Sam and Lauren. And I hate uncertainty.
New York was the very best thing I could have done for myself. The reasons didn’t pan out, but I am a healthier, happier, more knowledgable person than I was three years ago. And New York, Bank Street, Gotham Girls, Ana and Becca made that happen.
The job I’m leaving is the very best job I could ever have had – the job and my boss and everything about it seemed so perfectly designed for me and my expertise and my personality that me not getting to do it for longer feels like concrete disproof of the existence of narrativium in our lives.
I don’t want to go.
But I can do it.
Now, who wants to buy my comics?
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