I’m all moved.

I’ve been a little bit in shock at the change. I had a temp gig consisting of nearly two weeks nonstop [yes, Saturday and Sunday too] of twelve-hour days involving lots of running back and forth and climbing stairs carrying mountains of file folders and booklets, a 7:45 arrival time, and only the slightest bit of interpersonal interaction allowed. And now that that’s done and my work has reverted to freelancer schedule [read: sleeping until ten, long lazy lunches, and late nights of writing with wine], I’m focused on the important stuff—how much my life has changed and the magnitude of what I’ve done with this decision.

There was a breakup. And there was—is—a fair amount of pain, confusion, self-doubt, and second-guessing. There was also a ton of self-work and examination and redefining what I want and being really honest about what I can and can’t handle. But that doesn’t mean I don’t miss him. I do. I miss the way he introduced me to cool music and good beers, shot pictures of me [many of which found their way onto this site], accompanied me on trans-Manhattan night walks, and always had a perfect grilled cheese sandwich waiting when I came by after work—muenster, with tomatoes and occasionally avocados, on an everything bagel. I miss his ideas about architecture and work and art, as well as his presence—the way he did back handsprings in the park once, or always texted me about the cute dogs he saw when he walked to work.

There’s also a lot of homesickness—another breakup, this time with a city instead of with a person. I had to leave the city where I knew I belonged because I knew that in order to stay there, I needed to pick up a lot more skills to earn a lot more money. But in leaving, I’ve left behind so much that I love—great public transit, diversity, open-mindedness, drop-off laundry. The city yielded me so much entertainment, romanticism, inspiration, and fun—long days spent skimboarding and sunning myself until I burned in Rockaway; so many delicious trips to Pinkberry; acquaintance with some of the best artists in the world [some of whom are still emailing me to see when I'm coming back]; an appreciation for adventure and infinitude.

I’m not doing well with either breakup. I miss both the boy and the city, even though it’s probably right, and even though I know I’ll be okay soon.

Because there are also good things. My rent decreased by almost seventy-five percent when I moved into my new place in Cincinnati. I have a basement studio/workout space, and I’m riding a stationary bike every day [one day, I'm going to learn how to ride a bike for real, too]. My dog and I go for long walks every morning, and sometimes when I feel like it, I pick mulberries to eat later in the day with ice cream. I’ve found that I can reasonably eat out occasionally without guilt about blowing my budget. The thrift stores are a gold mine, because compared to New York, practically no one seeks out secondhand awesomeness. I am surrounded by creative, intelligent, helpful, generous, inspiring people who despite not living in a major metropolitan art center spend a ton of time creating and making awesome things happen, because they don’t have to work eighty-hour weeks just to pay their rent. There is karaoke and dive bars and cheap rock and roll shows and all-night cook-a-thons and midnight sing-alongs involving The Magnetic Fields, cheap wine, pineapple sorbet, and bouncing on the bed.

So I’ll be okay. It’s good to be back.

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