Alright, let’s make this official

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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