I think maybe I messed up, you know? Like, I spent so long trying to make my art work, barely scraping by, and then I went into medicine so I could actually afford to live. And now it’s all… happening? My career is just taking off and I’m so close to being able to actually slow down and paint again, but my partner just seems so angry all the time about my hours. I don’t know if this counts as a confession, but I feel like I picked the wrong thing, maybe. I don’t know if we’re going to make it.