At the start of this year, I thought I would be spending it exploring the remaining nooks and crannies of my current city, with the idea that perhaps I’d move next fall. I was reveling in the idea of that exploration.
Then more surprises came along at my job, and I know in my heart I don’t have the energy to make it through another year, so I realized I would be leaving in a few months. Unlike my former vision, the idea of packing it in has unearthed some psychological toxins, and once again I’m sorting through some anger, regret, and sadness.
If it feels like my writing has taken a left turn, that is why…