Several months ago, a co-worker and friend, Nicole, mentioned she had seen an ex-boyfriend of hers on an MTV reality dating show.

A month or so later, Cara, another co-worker and friend, mentioned an ex-boyfriend of hers she'd seen on an MTV reality dating show.  The coincidence seemed astronomical.

Except that it wasn't.  I asked Nicole about it and she told me she'd never had an ex-boyfriend on any reality dating shows, MTV or otherwise.  It had been Cara all along.

The trouble was, I remembered, clear as a bell, sitting in Nicole's cubicle as she told me the story.  I remembered the decorations on her wall, the color of the chair I was sitting on, her monitor, her hair... the whole thing.  It was Nicole, wasn't it?  Nicole had the MTV boyfriend.  Didn't she?

I thought I was losing my mind.  Was Cara Nicole?  Was Nicole Cara?  Obviously, I'd misremembered.  But what if I hadn't?  What if Cara and Nicole planned this out to screw with me?  Or, worse, what if the universe had switched them and only I noticed?  What if their identities, their histories, had become liquid?  What if that sort of thing happens all the time and no one ever bothers to pay attention?

My 24 hour comic experience last year was... great, but difficult.  I can't honestly say I enjoyed it.  I wasn't thrilled with the quality of the result, but I liked the fact that I told a complete story I'd wanted to tell.  I also liked the fact that I'd successfully completed 24 pages in 24 hours.  I stretched myself as hard as I'd ever attempted and, in the end, I walked away with two stories: the one in the comic and the one of what it was like to make the comic.  I dedicated it to my sister and called it Jump and it made me very happy.

During Jump, I swore I'd never do this again: the pain, the frustration... it just wasn't worth it.  I'd had my marathon comics experience, thanks, I didn't need another one.  Later, though, I reconsidered: what if I could tell a better, more intellectually complex story in 24 hours than Jump?  24 hour comics don't allow you to do any physical preparation, but I decided: I would only take on another 24 hour comic if I could come up with a premise that 1) interested me 2) could be told in 24 pages and 3) could somehow reflect the 24 hour experience within the plot or visual presentation of the story.

Was Cara Nicole?  Was Nicole Cara?

It seemed like a premise that was taylor-made for a 24 hour comic: a guy, living and working in a sea of office cubicles, finds that his mind is unravelling over the course of a workday morning when the identities of those around him become liquid.

I knew I wanted to do it.  Something was missing, though, until I read an interview quote from Neil Gaiman: "I decided that in comedy, people get what they need. And in horror, people get what they deserve."

Horror.  Maybe that was it.  My protagonist should be a manipulative, lying asshole.

So, okay: 24 Hour Comic Day, 2006.

I was in.