"I have something to say."

Now's all I have. And right now, I don't know shit. That doesn't mean that I can't act like I know shit, and convince other people I know shit, so that they hire me. Which is what I seem to be doing left and right lately.

My dream job is a series of jobs that I can prance between and come and go from, without having to be responsible for anything outside of a monthly or weekly deadline. After that deadline, I can skip town with no ill feelings. My dream job lets me go anywhere I want, and occasionally sends me places I want to go, with nothing but a vague guideline (a word requirement) and all my crazy ideas.

Wander around and find a story, Christie, and we'll pay you to write it. I got that assignment today. I feel like I hit a milestone. It's not going to pay a mortgage or anything, but see, my dream job not only prevents the paying of a mortgage--it prevents the having of a mortgage. To me, this prevents me from getting comfortable in a life I'm not truly happy with. I could be young and naive, but I don't think I'll ever be happy with a mortgage. I'd still just be daydreaming and nightdreaming about the dreams I didn't follow up on, while being stuck in one place, collecting junk I don't need. I wouldn't speak up about it so much if I didn't know for a fact I could succumb to it. It can appear enticing when you're tired.

For a long time, I was hesitant to cold-call for freelance jobs. The only reason I can figure is I wasn't sure if I could do it, or if I had anything to say, or that anyone would care what I said. I've always known I've had SOMETHING to say, but stopped short of knowing what it was. That made me doubt myself, made me nervous.

What I have to say hasn't happened yet. I'll know it when I go to Grand Isle to "find something hopeful" in spite of the oil spill, with a tent and no cushy expense account. I'll know it when I remember that I don't need scissors to cut paper, like my favorite teacher in high school taught me. When I can stop putting things in front of me to get distracted with, I'll see everything else in the world. And I'll write about it.

It's silly that I ever thought I had to know what I wanted to say to the world. I think all I have to say is, "I have something to say." Believing it, I guess, was the hard part. Still kind of is the hard part, but it doesn't get me very far to think I'm worthless.

I love this point in my life, this one speck of time where I don't know shit about anything, and I allow myself that luxury. It might be different tomorrow, but I can't expect to know everything before it happens, right? Into the caverns of tomorrow, with just my flashlight and my love, I PLUNGE!