I once said that changes move in packs. This has certainly been true recently, and just when I thought things were calming down, another pack of changes has begun howling in the hills and moving in for the kill.

I had an apartment-warming last week. It was a lovely party, and my new apartment was more together than ever before. Every cranny cleaned and every picture hung, and never have I understood the first party in a new place being called a ‘warming’ more. The next morning, I woke up and crawled from my warm bed into my newly warm home, and checked my e-mail.

What I found was my first fan-letter. It was a very flattering yet intelligent letter about my website and the way my correspondent had stumbled across it (apparently I am the top hit on Google for “austen dickens infectious”—right glad am I she accidentally hit ‘enter’ before typing ‘disease’ and going to sciencedaily somethingerother!)

My ‘fan’, Stasie, is the editor of a new magazine up in Seattle, and on Wednesday she offered me a permanent job. Writing. I repeat for emphasis: Felicity paid to put words together.

I think I actually cried some, between all the laughing and dancing around (probably good I don’t have new neighbors downstairs just now.) It’s the most beautiful thing to happen in my whole life. It chose a pretty silly time, but somehow, I don’t really mind. I’m going to be doing what I want most of all to do, living in a fascinating (if congested and expensive) city, AND seeing my FABULOUS sister all the freakin’ time!

So I’m ripping up all my new roots. Breaking my lease and giving Nike my fond farewells. And as for Ryan, well, he is going on his own adventure. I may think he’s crazy, but I’m doing [side note to wonko: Have I mentioned that if you Aubrey me, I’m going to reinstate quaint old Royal Navy customs, starting with flogging? I have mentioned it? Consider it rementioned.|text|the supportive girlfriend thing].

This place has been my home forever. No matter how long I stayed in the East, this was my home. And it’s not going to be anymore. It’s sad and strange and hard to believe. Every corner holds a memory—playing in the volcano ash in my yard, my first kiss, reading a well-loved book high in a maple tree, sparring and talespinning on the playground, graduating from high school with a smile and a migraine. The stuff of my life is strung out across this valley, and now somehow I must spin it all up, tuck it all in, and move on. My friends, good and cherished friends, I cannot take with me.

But, although twenty-four years is far too short a time to spend among such excellent hobbits, this is the end. I am going. I am leaving. Goodbye.