I have made a decision.
I have accepted a job.
I have resigned from a job.
I have given notice on my house.
I have announced my move on facebook.
I am moving back to Gone West.
In three weeks.
I think it's the right decision. But I only think. I don't know. Maybe there is no right decision and no wrong decision.
Alone, walking back into the dark after paying my last monthly bill at fighting class, after telling my martial arts family that I need to cancel my monthly billing, I thought I'd chosen wrong.
Most of the time, I think I've chosen right. Almost everyone I talk to says, "We'll miss you and we are sad that you are going, but wow seriously have you ever chosen exactly the right time to get out."
There is far more behind that than can be detailed on the internet, and a lot of local politics involved, but suffice it to say that I didn't think I would go, and then when the offer came and I started thinking about it, there was so much to go toward that I couldn't say no. I have spent my entire
legal career worrying about budget cuts at the federal, state, and local level (thank you, recession(s) of the '00s), and I would like to think that this is the end of that worry in my life, although I'm sure it will come again.
In three weeks I will be finished with my obligations in Universe City, and on the move to Gone West. This means that I need to pack, and I need a place to stay/live, and I need to get myself and my belongings up there.
The mere thought has me so tired that I'm spending the evening on the couch (albeit after an exhausting week of decision-making).
The enormity of moving is enough to make me want to live in one place forever.