I'm moving to New York sometime early next year. I've known this for a while now: Angela got into Columbia's grad-school social-work program and starts in the fall; I'll follow her sometime in winter, probably during a break between semesters. (Not Christmas, I don't think.) Right now I am preparing my room, as best I can, to be inhabitable by two people for a few days, which will not be easy considering that it's small as is, never mind with all my stuff in it. (At the end of the week, we will fly to NYC and embark on separate trips: hers to Asia and Africa, lasting three-and-a-half months, me to six cities on my way back to Seattle via Amtrak.)

I will not pretend to love the idea of living in New York again. My last time through there remains in my mind a vividly etched eight-month nightmare, from Office Space bullshit to housing bullshit to side freelancing turning into a Catch 22 (laptop dies, can't fix it because I don't have any money since I can't freelance because my laptop died, and because I have nothing left from my job after bills are paid--I'll never forget the night I called my mother in tears for an emergency loan so I didn't bankrupt myself thanks to having been fucked over by so goddamned many people, from roommates to employers). Two people in particular I could happily never speak to again, though I have already in the time since because I'm too nice for my own fucking good. The main relief I had came from playing bridge on Mondays at the Magician and a handful of friends I'd have seen more often if I hadn't been trying to avoid thinking about everything I was dealing with. I didn't enjoy explaining my idiotic circumstances anymore than I enjoyed being in them.

So what better time to return to a city I stopped actively liking years ago than when my profession is dying? It's gonna be great! I'll beg for bylines from people I stopped talking to years ago, when I could afford to be principled enough to not bother pitching those who don't respond to pitches from people who've written for them for years! (Hahaha OK I won't.) I'll get into yelling matches I'd really rather not get into with friends because I can't help myself, and also because the bars are loud! I'll pay more than twice the rent I pay now and have less than half the space! I'll either get to pay for storage for three years or sell most of my belongings in order to move out there in the first place!

I'll also play bridge again, Paul permitting, and I'll be able to pitch stories for real money, not that I expect to sell any of them, and I'll be near the book industry and possibly get this one really good idea I have off the ground and onto the shelves, and I'll be around more friends than I have anywhere else, and I'll be with the woman I love and want to spend the rest of my life with. Fuck you, New York.