So. It’s decided. I’m moving to Arizona.
Friday night I was waiting for the train. I had just finished rehearsal. I was tired. My fingers were numb and I could barely stir up enough energy to appear relaxed. The only thing I could think of was: “I want to write.”
I didn’t think “I gotta get out of here” or “I can’t do this anymore.” (Though I have said both many times.) I just wanted to curl up with a good book, get excited again, and write.
So I guess that’s what I’m going to do. Write.
I worry that I’m ditching New York because it’s too hard. Maybe I’m being a coward… Well, it IS too hard. I wasn’t ready for any of these things. Not grad school. Not the city. Not the winter.
I think I’ll come back to New York someday. After I get a little more straight. After I figure out what I want to do with my time.
So that’s the news. Straight from the bird’s beak. Arizona. Sundresses. Bare feet. Another awful move. Another debt to pay. Another “I hope this is the right decision.”
I just think I have to give this writing thing a fair shot, even if it’s a long shot.
So. The desert. I’m scared. But shit, when have I NOT been scared?