Later thoughts regarding yesterday's post.

When faced with the possibility of striking out on my own, I knew I had to do it. Living with my dad isn't so bad, but I can see myself going into creative atrophy under his supervision, which is a crime I can only blame myself for. When moving in, I thought that maybe I had a shot at changing our relationship to something a bit more open. After all, I hadn't lived with the guy since I was 10, and even up until then he traveled quite a bit. It only took a year and five months to learn that we were who we were and nothing was going to change that. Fine. I told him last night I was moving out and he said he would miss me. I feel kind of bad leaving the old guy all alone, but I know better than to worry for that. We're both solitary figures. He has his routines, I have mine, and were both in the way of eachothers'.

Aside from that, here is my real worry. I will now be paying rent. I will have to turn my pseudo-day job into a real day job to afford it. More hours, more days. The day job is the mortal enemy of the artist, but if anyone has a shot at that battle, it's me, and I'd be a coward not to take it.

I move forward with hope and caution.

I read Bill Watterson to revisit my roots.