In August I'm leaving my job to write full-time.  I have nothing lined up.  I'll be selling my larger possessions and moving in with a friend who has graciously offered to let me crash with her while I "figure things out."  I haven't exactly told her that my idea of things being figured out is basically being unemployed while I pursue the only thing I've ever loved doing as best I can.  I'm hoping against hope that when she realizes what a great roommate I am - and gets used to living in a clean apartment with home-cooked meals - she'll never let me leave.  We'll see.  Who knows, maybe I'll hate it.  Maybe I'll rue the day I ever decided I wanted something different (more?) out of life.  Maybe it will turn out that I wasn't unique after all, I was just lazy or selfish or unwilling to face reality or just plain terrified of growing up.

Or maybe this is the best decision I ever made.



Oh man, she doesn't even know I have a cat.