8:26 p.m. - September 05, 2005
Work a bit tomorrow, then off to Boston for two days, Virginia for another two, then home late Sunday. Earlier today I laid out my travel schedule through May (oddly, March is completely free), and my stomach lurched. Many new places along with the too-often treaded Virginia and Florida, like Salt Lake City, Charlotte, and Atlanta. And Seattle several times. It bothers me that I am still reticent, leery of the city I call home from this California exile. That is like me, though: Denying myself that which I want most because I'm undeserving, punishing myself for my weaknesses and failures all the while yearning to be closer to my mountains and the water, to stand atop the ferry in mid-winter and look at the city lights. The true test of change would be my leaving California and moving, trusting employment would be secured, that even if I ran into Spec I would not be afraid, and that I could successfully carve a niche of my own. Dreams, all of it. But damnit, I want to live, to get a bike and a dog, a small place nestled among trees that groan in winter. Nurturing, a place where I can thrive.
Between the royalties for the books and the trainings, I can live anywhere I want. I don't have to worry about a job; I know this. I know, but don't know and in the meantime I sit tight, write, and make money by training teachers. It could be ideal, this arrangement of mine, but instead I've turned it into a pigeon-hole closed up with bars.
I am a long ways off from doing what I want. I mean shit, I won't allow myself to buy a new pair of shoes and a jacket because the ones I have are just fine.
I have hundreds of thousands of frequent flyer miles. I can fly myself and several others first-class to Australia. I can afford to go to Peru and Egypt. I have everything needed but I tell myself not yet, not until I've finished another book, or not until I have a boyfriend or even a best friend to explore with, or not until my income-debt ratio is better tuned, or not until I've lost the weight I've gained, or not until I'm a nicer person and deserve to indulge. There are always excuses and in the meantime I content myself with breezes that smell of salt wafting through the door.