
Anxiety Brain strikes again.

Anxiety Brain strikes again.

I want to do right by you. Yes, you.

I’m the very best boyfriend ever.

The most awkward thing about publishing this comic is not that the person I’m talking about will read this and realize the jig is up, it’s worrying that someone who I don’t actually have a beef with will think it’s about them.
Which makes me want to make a follow up comic where I agonize over the text I’m writing here because I’m terrified I’ll offend someone I didn’t mean to.
So … you know … progress.

When I was talking about the comic before I launched it, this is what I intended to use it for: To give myself context. To turn my messy life into a neat and tidy narrative that moved from my childhood to the adult I have become.
But that’s not how life works. Even if it is how biopics work.

Alcohol makes me even dumber.

It’s not that jealousy doesn’t happen, it’s that it gets weirder and more insidious.

At Sir Mix-A-Lot, where I promise I’m bobbing my head and Ben isn’t doing the cabbage patch.

On the one hand, it can be hard to accept that my ex-wife’s “I don’t want to have kids” actually meant “I don’t want to have kids with you.” On the other, I would not change a goddamn thing.

She knows me a little too well sometimes.