I'm pretty bad at goodbyes too, I'm realizing. Well, this isn't goodbye, exactly. Just, au revoir.

Also, on last plug that you can buy that "If Oscar Isaac Were Your Boyfriend" zine I'm working on in PDF or print. Going to drawing out my broken heart next week, so I hope y'all are prepared for several beautiful yet bittersweet pictures of Oscar Isaac looking at you with those eyes.

(I might also do commissions for the other If X Were Your Y's....)

Anyway, hit me up on Twitter, Instagram, and Tumblr. PLEASE reach out. I'm a bit scatter brained but I love when y'all reach out.

I'LL MISS YOU, TOAST. Though I admit that I'm cheered you'll post a few things in the future, even if it's not regular. THE TOAST IS DEAD LONG LIVE THE TOAST.

Incidentally, I tweeted a bunch of my favorite Toast pieces last night and this morning! Here's the start of the thread.

This is amazing. Thank you for writing it. I hope you write a book because I spent my morning reading this. I love where it took me and want desperately to read more. I hope you write a book.

I'm sorry about your eviction. What a cruel, painful thing.

NICOLE they did not hire you because they felt bad about Mallory messing up! I talked to Mallory too and I think she got confused about the time zones and called me two hours early (while I was still at my regular job, lol). YOU WERE HIRED FOR YOUR AMAZING SKILLS, NICOLE.

I'll always remember the day they announced your hiring. Even though I had been disappointed not to get the job, I remember being full of complete delight when I saw you did. You struck me as very smart, sharp, and kind-hearted, a rare person to find in even in life, much rather in work. So when I friended you immediately on Facebook and you posted on my wall that you saw the request and hoped it was me, that sealed the deal: I fell deeply in friend-love with you.

The work you do for and with the Toast is, quite frankly, amazing. You're super organized, you're quick with emails and clear, strong edits -- heck, you PAY US IN A TIMELY MANNER, something I've struggled to make giant corporations do even with lots of nice emails (pro-tip: lead with the nasty emails). Your writing is so clear -- you're able to examine so many angles and perspectives while supporting your thesis.

This piece really strikes at the heart of what I love about the Toast, as well: where being "too much" was just enough. As one of those writers you mention who was shocked by the warmth and affection I found in the editors and the comments, I feel like the Toast changed me into the person I've always struggled to be. Confident, yes, but also open-hearted without being taken advantage of -- open-hearted while knowing, very clearly, my worth. It's the kind of gift I will always remember and work to repay by putting love and warm energy and strength back into the world.

IT'S SO GOOD. It's the one I most want to see made into a movie.

Seriously. They are harder to write because you're trying not to fall into patriarchal/capitalist patterns, and you're aiming for egalitarianism, but that usually means they're SUPER fun and creative.

I can't believe I forgot about that one! I'm going to be spending a lot of time today re-reading.

You are too good to us. And congratulations to your stepmother. That's amazing.

I posted about this yesterday, but just wanted to post here for the people who aren't on Twitter. I'm working on an illustrated zine for my "If Oscar Isaac Were Your Boyfriend" piece. You can pre-order PDF or print copies here, at my Big Cartel store.

(If you can't afford it, feel free to send me a message and I'll print an extra one for you!)

YOU'RE GOING TO BE WORKING ON THE MAGIC SCHOOL BUS REBOOT????

HOLY SHIT, DUDE, THAT'S BOSS. Incidentally, if you're up for being interviewed about it, you should get in touch!

I KNOW, I was like "hdu steal the feelings i'm feeling" BUT there it is.

Yeah, basically this is how I've been feeling about the Toast ending. Just listening to the new Ghostbusters theme song to ease the pain. It helps that it has "I'm Not Afraid" as the refrain.