Have you ever sat down to dinner with a friend and thought, if I don’t tell them about the cute thing my cat did and what I what I ate for lunch and how I cannot stand Michele from marketing I might implode? Now imagine that everything you say has to go through a filter because all of your friends also pay your bills. Self-censorship is exhausting, especially when your instincts are to share, to conspire, to stay up until 3am drinking cocktails with names you’ve just made up. I’m exhausted.

I joke about being incapable of disguising what I really think, but here’s the truth: I’m fucking good at it. For 10 years, I worked at a job in which every day I had to lie to or evade questions from family, friends, and strangers alike. And at year 11, I couldn’t keep going. Being good at it was exhausting.

In 4 days, I will set off across the country in my CRV, the one that that my mom gave me a couple of years ago because I am privileged enough to quit a job that was eating away at me from the inside. A sensible person would be sad to leave and nervous about teaching in new spaces. I’m mostly contemplating the monthlong nap I’m going to take when I reach Corvallis.

Come visit. We’ll sample pinots while we make unsellable art and plot world domination. Because like I said, I just need a nap.

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