Well, issue 10 of Culture Crash Comics has finally come out, and I'm happy to report its everything they said it would be. Everything, but on time. Looking at the glossy cover, the vastly improved art, James and taga-Ilog monopolizing the articles, and even (GASP!) the formerly non-existent advertisements, I think to myself...
...I wish I didn't quit. But then again I could not simultaneously (a) help churn out great comics, (b) make my sorry attempt at graduating (well at least it ...worked), and
(c) fend off the harpies forever feasting on my liver and spleen. Yes, harpies: Mom and her longing to see me ensconced in an office working for someone I will hold in vast contempt because (among other reasons) he has he power to fire me; my father, girlfriend and sister, advocates and disciples of the "Real Job" and the school of early 20th century economics.
I miss the work. I miss my friends. I miss the fans. I even miss the lousy hours. I did not miss the lousy pay, and neither did I miss the definite lack of the democratization of opportunity one comes to expect from a three-man joint venture.
I'm not making any sense, am I?
It's the Dexter Lira curse happening all over again. Every time I leave any group, my leavetaking heralds its monetary, political and social success. Today I saw a great comic book put together by my friends and former workmates. While I felt elated for them, I also felt envious, left behind, obsolete.
There. I said it.