and what will you do about it, spoiled girl?

i got in to a program in mexico for fall, now all's i gotta do is pay for it.

today jess told me she's bored, and i said, yes, but you're paid . . . and free.

and that scares me. will i never feel free? if not now, when? i know freedom exists in the mind, all those quotes by those very smart men told me, but does it really? and if so, why not now? i know i feel free in the summer, but summers are very boring. what am i seeking? adventure, probably.

i'm quitting my ASL class - i'm not retaining enough and i won't continue my study of it, c'est la vie. eventually.

if i had all the money and time in the world, i'd learn languages and get a degree in etymology. man, i hope you can do this kind of thing after you're dead, that would be awesome. maybe you're judged based on what you did while on earth and then the reward is whatever you wanted to do but put off, you can do post-mortem. you gotta prioritize. because really, i have a lot to do in my life. and there is just no way to do all of it. if i could, i'd want to live a sleepy little life as a used-bookstore owner, and part of me wants to be a broadway star, and a ball-busting business negotiator, the first female president, sex therapist/safer sex educator, novelist and an ob-gyn saving women's lives with doctors with borders.

then there are the for-real careers i'm still considering: lawyer, parent, NGO gopher/admin, poet, judge, journalist (i'd be amy goodman but i don't think i could be that impartial). . .

and the crazy idealist in me, the immaturity in me, believes i could do all of these things, and do them well, given enough time.

part of me really wants to be a revolutionary, to lead the troops into the mountains, all that romantic bullshit. i don't really want to believe revolution is as much potshots through the windows at night and the decisions you make every day and one abortion at a time. i want the romance, i want to train my body taut like g.i. jane and look like angelina jolie and save the world like indiana jones. (he was pretty smart, you know.)

i don't really want to be where i am, in a ballerina skirt, holding my droopy poems and pouting about my bedtime.

i don't know how to get there. but the part of me that won't let me lie to myself whispers, you don't follow the paths of others; you make your own. so not knowing the way is no excuse. you know this.