There isn't a word for what I'm going to be when I grow up.

I make a lot of plans and to-do lists and whathaveyous. I'm trying to do that now and realizing I don't really want to. I am reconciling, recoiling, remarkable.

We haven't talked about it but I'm pretty sure my mom took some time off to "find herself." When else could she find time to hitch-hike to Alaska? I'm hoping she remembers how good that time was for her and her mental health when I tell her this weekend that I'm dropping out of society as much as possible. I know my parents will always love me but I also want them to be proud of me. I'm sure they'd have a much harder time saying, "Oh, Susan? She's... quit school and is working full-time! Yeah, we're proud of our average girl!" I'm not any less valuable because I don't strive to be rich, famous, or ridiculously well-off, right? I hope not.

So, I have a plan? An idea? A goal? I know what I'm doing right now is not working. I know how to get out of it.

For now, working a lot more to get a place in Gainesville with John. More working and saving to move to Colorado (Colorado! Who would've thunk it?). Working and making connections in the Cannabis Business (Cannabusiness?) until I get restless enough to make new plans. Ultimately, I want to be in Washington, in a house, adopt two kids.

Scary is exciting but nice is different from good.

O, futur!

Sometimes it feels like the present isn't happening except as the waiting room for the future. It's a pretty comfortable waiting room; there are magazines telling you about future things and all the time in the world to think. What do I want in the future? What does future-me want in the present? What is going to happen?

I always say that my ultimate goal is to own my own Cannabis Bakery but my real ultimate goal is the live off the grid with my partner, our two adopted children, cats, cows, chickens, and a big garden. By a river, perhaps? In a tree house. Not going to work a job but just working in the garden and teaching the children about the world. Having friends pop in at unexpected times. Creating art everyday. But I'm not doing anything today to work toward that. At best, the path of my life right now continues to living in a rented house with a boy, maybe a cat, working full-time, and creating only messes. I don't know how to change the path without also drastically changing my life. I like my life. It's been better but it's still fucking awesome. And getting better!

I just got too high to keep doing this. The air outside is tinged with autumn and I have to ride my bike or weed my garden but I cannot be here anymore.

Blue

If you feel it, it's real.

There is such a lack of "maybe" in my life right now. Yes, no, yes, no, yes, no, no, no, no. Yes. I'm happy and I'm free and I'm open. That's all I've ever wanted. Time only exists in the way the shadows change in my room.

I wish I had more to talk about. Or more people to talk to. Or something. Instead I have a belly full of beer, too many plans in too many cities, and Joni Mitchell desperately trying to teach me lessons but I won't turn up the volume.

A cigarette flew back in my car yesterday. It hit my head and then burned a hole in my shirt and back. I tried to figure out what the universe was trying to tell me: "Watch your back." "Don't litter." "Smoke less." But I think it was more what my mother always says, "Guard your heart." But I'm tired of guarding my heart. I worry all of the time that people can read my mind. I would tell anyone anything if they asked but I don't like that idea of my thoughts just escaping and making their new homes alongside the thoughts of others.

What do I have right now?

Cookies for my drug dealer. An appointment to see my best friend in our future home. A new brand of cigarettes. Half a beer. Time.

Oh, god, so much time. I can't focus. I'm high on freedom. I'm low on money. I'm leaving the state Friday at sunrise. I'm tired and I'm selfish and goddammit, what the hell am I going to do with all of those flowers now?

It doesn't matter.

Tomorrow I am going to hug as many people as possible and discover something new. The day after that, I don't know.

But my hair will be straight and purple and brown and and and.

I see you shiver with...

I think I've almost completed one complete month of celibacy for each and every time someone cheated on his or her significant other with me in 2009.

I think it was worth it even though they'll never know.

At the very least, I've learned how to be happy on my own.

An overcoat is a second skin.

The best thing of anything today is hearing the city come to life:

the sun rises through my balcony windows

the post office sings

dogs bark and birds buzz.

I sneak to make coffee without waking Emily.

Always bold French roast.

Puck, the indoor, domesticated sprite, mewls.

Television's off tonight,
I heard somebody cry outside,
and the smells of spring are everywhere
getting mixed up with my own.

I feel like so many analogies
but what I am is a cat in sunshine.
A cat in sunshine, a canary in a coal mine.

When the autumn leaves and the winter settles in,

sometimes it seems as though an overcoats a second skin.