Life doesn't wait for you to be ready for it. It barges in the door, plops down on the chair, and just looks at you, expectantly. Nine times out of ten, you create a you-shaped figure through the door in your attempt to escape. Like bugs bunny or taz. But then there's that one time... the one time that you just look at it back, and say, "bring it on bitch." I'm trying to get to that point. I keep telling myself if I keep doing what I'm doing I'll get to the place I want to be.

In doing this, I'm becoming less and less of the person people recognize me as... the wanderer, the dreamer, the girl who will dance till the sun comes up and then demand pancakes for breakfast. The girl who will get up and go at whim. Who will end up in San Diego, Seattle, Hastings, Los Angeles, San Francisco. The girl who can better route an airport than a freeway. Did you know they're called beltways in the east? The girl who discovers senseless thoughts while she adds more miles to her frequent flier points and wears the tires on her car thin.

The show is in two weeks, and for five days prior I will be in San Francisco. I still don't know where I'll be staying there, but I'll figure it out. Start walking, right? You eventually get somewhere. I'm nervous, but less than I should be. They're ready to hang, and I need to price them. I look at them and see hours of my time spent saying "not yet, it's not there yet." But you won't see it. You'll see the peaceful black and white of the ocean at sunset, the sun glinting off the water. You'll see the dream behind the instrument series, behind the back of a drummer in the middle of a solo. And I'll smile, and sip my wine while I sell myself to you.

Peices of me will be shipped out into the world and go places I've only imagined. I wish I could track them. Computer chip inside the mounting, maybe? I could discover Paris, London, Milan this way. I could say "thats how far I've gone, this is where I'm going." I guess the problem was, I never wanted pancakes.