I am sitting in bed and eating ice cream that makes me teeth hurt. Last night I saw Charlene Yi perform. She’s a young comic/musician/performer who wrote Paper Heart, a sweet fictional documentary about whether love exists. She dropped out of school and lived in her car to get to LA and follow her dream. Her work is funny and honest and seems to come from her gooey chocolatey center.

Lately I’ve been thinking about what it is I want to do. A lot of the time I think about what I don’t want to do, or what’s stopping me from doing what I want, or how I can’t do anything and have no talent or passion, or how the whole world is fucked up and I just want to run away and live in a cave and eat berries like the guy in the book Hatchet I read when I was 10.

Some people make Bucket Lists of things they want to do before they die. Some people have lofty goals and ambitions that motivates them to do things like go to Law School, or climb a ladder of business hierarchy, or work 12 hours a day making food for people for very little money.

I don’t know what it is I want to do. When I was a kid I had these vague ideas of travel and adventure, being a poor hobo and relying on the kindness of strangers to get me where I need to be, and letting life carry me through good times in bad.

I haven’t gone for this lifestyle because it’s full of worried relatives and sketchy situations and being homeless and not getting what I need to eat, poop, and sleep safely. It’s not ambitious enough in the “I’m gonna be somebody” kind of sense, and there is no end goal except for exploring and seeing what is out there for me to see. I don’t know when a trip like this will end, or what I should do when I’m done. I always thought something would just happen.

The other thing, is money. I don’t want to have to rely on people for money, but I don’t want to work 40 hours a week for a paycheck, either. I wish I didn’t have to have money to live. Right now I’ve been working a lot at a temporary job where I get paid $23.50 an hour, but I’m always disappointed. I calculate pay during work and then am horrified when $200 gets deducted each week for taxes. When I didn’t have a job a month ago, I was always worried, but it seemed like I went out to eat a lot more, made more art, read more books, and wasn’t so angry. I seem to have a very short fuse and money lights it all the time.

The thing about this vague traveling trip I keep/kept thinking about what this: I don’t have any other plans. I seriously don’t think I ever imagined myself as old as I am now, and my plans were never definite enough to seem like something I should actually make a plan to do.

So I’m trying to make a list of things that I would like to do. People always say we never make time to just do the things that mean so much to us because we’re too busy with jobs and kids and things. Well, my job is temporary, and I’m not very fond of money and I don’t want kids until I’m done fooling around, so I thought I might as well make a list of things that I want to have happen at some point in my life and then just go from there. I hope I can think of something. I hope they aren’t impossible.

1. Have a studio that is all mine.

I want a place to go with big windows and tall ceilings that is my place. I want to be able to go there and be alone and work or dance or sing or record things or draw or paint of make prints. I want a big counter with a sink and an electric kettle and a hot plate and a refrigerator and I want to be the only one with a key. I like company, but this is a place I can go if I want to be completely alone. I work best when I’m completely alone and I never quite feel like that. Sometimes I would like a whole week of just being alone so I could get into it and get the voices out of my head. I want time to do whatever I want and I want to take all the pressure off of myself so that I don’t have to worry about how what I will do will impress people or how it will effect my future. And I don’t want this to be in a place where I am scared of getting shot walking out of my building, but I don’t want this place to be in the middle of nowhere either.

2. I want to work part time at a mindless job.

When I was in Seattle I worked at this frame shop/gift shop. I worked from 11-5pm four days a week, I got foodstamps, my work was two blocks away, and mostly I put price tags on things, made stuff pretty, and kept it all dust-free. It left me a lot of brain space to thing about things like what I was going to do or make outside of it. Sometimes I wish I had never left Seattle. The weather was bad, but that’s all I can think of that was bad. My best friend and I had our own radio show, I lived in an awesome house, I met really cool people who were doing amazing things, and I got to go see live music and eat for practically nothing all the time. I couldn’t afford cheese or meat or wine, but I was really healthy and cooked all my meals from scratch and spent like $100 on groceries for two people every month. I want to live somewhere where that’s possible. I’m tired of being cramped into one room. But I can’t think of anywhere I want to move either, not even Seattle. I like the sun too much.

3. I want summer in the country.

Freshwater creeks to live in, gardening to do, bonfires, learning to play an instrument. I want to do all these things. I was thinking about the ukulele or maybe making stuff electronically. But I want to make songs and sing them at night on the back porch after a day of baking chocolate cake and swimming and drinking minted lemonade.

So those are three things for now. Maybe I’ll think of some other things later. I wonder if the place in my head that I want to exist is real or if it’s just the amalgam of everything I like about all the places I’ve been so far. Either way, I feel compelled to travel until I find it.

My boo and I went out last night. We drove through dark residential neighborhoods, looking into the lit windows of people’s houses. We drank tall boys on the sidewalk, listening to hipsters name drop and out-cool each other. We drank coffee at our favorite cafe, listening to a lady sing and a man strum his guitar. We listened to Journey in the car and when we got home we watched a movie about an epidemic wiping out 90% of the population of Earth.

I love my boo and I love the apocalypse.

A few months before I met him I was writing a column for  Sustainable Style. I had been watching all these documentaries about peak oil and energy and 2012 Mayan Calendar end of times junk. Sometimes I like to fantasize about the apocalypse. Usually I skip the bad stuff and end up somewhere safe with everyone I love. We build shanties and cabins and grow gardens and live this amazing communal-hippie anarchist-back-to-the-land existence where it’s always spring and everything is wonderful. When I think about all this I look forward to is as a time where I will be released from the confines of having to actually work for money and instead I can just build and grow things and do that whole mutual aid thing, which I’m totally into.

Then I met my boo, T. When he asked me out I invited him to this potluck series I was doing. Every month I would find 6 strangers and invite them to a potluck at my house. I’d sit in the kitchen, serve their courses one by one, and record the conversation they had. So our first date was really me listening to him relate to 5 other complete strangers about life, existence, humanity, philosophy, and experience. At this point, T was a stranger to me. He worked across the street from my shop, and whenever I saw him I got totally drunk by his charisma. Not that he really did anything special, but to me being in his presence was like being next to a pop star I was really into. Like Billy Corgan when I was 13.

In the kitchen, I heard him talk about jumping out of planes, traveling the world, talking to shamans. He whistled the sound of a hawk. He spoke of seeing visions while sick with ameobic dysentary. He talked about the philosophy of the Tao and traded lessons he’s learned about society and human nature with those around the table. It wasn’t just him, everyone at the table had their own piece to add to this night. At the end of the evening a pipe was brought out, all the wine was drunk, and people sat on the stoop smoking and literally singing with each other. It was the best potluck of the summer.

He stood out. We moved in together after a month. It was magic. He would bring me wild flowers and we would sit on the porch for hours looking at the stars and talking about the dragon that appeared every night in the bush across the street, under the streetlamp. He told me about all the different lives he has had, all the things he’s learned and seen and suffered. He even helped me build a shanty in the backyard one Sunday, and we spent the summer living in the backyard, watching movies, eating, sleeping, listening to music. When we didn’t have a barbecue, he made one using a pitchfork, a few bricks, and the rack from the oven. When we got locked into a park all night, he built a big fire and we spent the night talking and watching the trains go by. And when it came time to move, he spent the day cleaning the gutters, washing all the windows, and loaded the truck down the windy staircase all by himself.

And in the back of my mind, I knew. He was the person I wanted with me when the shit hit the fan.

Right now, we live in the city, struggling to keep a roof over our heads and food in our mouths. We spend days in front of our computers, learning, stressing, dealing with clients, and reading. But I dream of the day when the population is wiped out and we are stuck on our own, surviving on what we can do with our two hands.We will be the ones to build a safe haven for those we love. We’ll be really buff from chopping wood and gathering wildflowers and swimming in creeks. We will have an amazing hand built house, delicious hand-grown and gathered food, and all our friends will finally be in bucolic harmony.

But even if that day never comes when the apocalypse strikes, there is still the catastrophe of everyday to manage. And it’s so nice to know that no matter how little or big it is, he is always there, making it a little easier.

Since moving to the city, I’ve been working on cultivating possibilities. I feel like the more seeds I plant, the more chances stuff will happen. In the last couple weeks I have joined a ton of event mailing lists, found tons of calendars with things to do, researched the cheapest happy hours in the city, and thought of a ton of ways (read: art projects) to make new friends in this place. I might get a job with the census, I’m working on buttering up this bakery I really want to work at, I’ve applied to volunteer at the botanical gardens, and figured out when the collective bookstore has their monthly meetings to introduce new volunteers. I’ve even figured out what permits to get to become a street artist and started experimenting with making things to sell out of my supply stash. I also found a baking and pastry program at the community college that’s free. Though my next few months are still veiled in mystery, it’s nice to think about all the things that could happen as a result of all the seeds I’m planting. I hope something sprouts.

In addition to the now future, I’ve also been thinking about the future down the road. I try to remember what I wanted to be when I grew up. I wanted to be a talent agent, a torch singer, an artist. I wanted to travel around the country, sit in the sun, find swimming holes, make forts, and live like an indian. Nothing has changed much. I envision myself learning to play the ukelele and sing on the street corner for passersby. Sometimes when things get tough I imagine just running away, walking out of town and just trying to keep going and see what happens. I went to a show for the first time in a long while on Friday, and listening to the music reminded me of how much pleasure music-making gives me. I thought about being at house shows in Seattle, and letting visions of art and sculpture float through my head inspired by the sounds going on around me. I want to sing loud, without fear, my own words with a strong voice.

Sometimes I dream of moving to the country, into a big wooden house in a meadow not far from the forest. I’d plant a garden, learn how to keep goats, make cheese, bake bread, build a greenhouse, and find somewhere good to go swimming in fresh water. At night we’d light a fire outside and sing and play music and look at the stars and hear the crickets. I would cook, make art, read and write. I’d invite people over to make things, eat, drink, dance, and make music. I’d take long walks and bring home wild flowers. I’d have special places to go for picnics, make forts, and hang birdhouses in the forest.

I am trying to get there. Guide my life in the direction that will lead me to this place, this time. Sometime the path seems invisible, blocked by lack of money and obstacles in my way. Sometimes I feel like I have to be able to trick society in some way to get this. Sometimes I just want to run away because that’s the only way I will get to where I want to be. Sometimes I feel like I need to sacrifice something to get to this place, but I’m not sure what it is.

Sometimes I wish there was a set, known path I was on. Where I could just follow the directions and go along the conveyor belt, not having to thing about how I spend each day, each hour. Just doing what they tell me and not having to think about it outside the hours of 9-5pm, and be able to have money to pay my bills and buy my groceries and go out and have a good time.

So I’m figuring out how to ignore the obstacles. How to think of what I want to do and just do it. How to stop waiting around for the right time or the right resources and just go for it. Get some failures under my belt. Learn. Be active. Stop feeling anxious or scared. Dance, sing, be good to those people around me. And maybe one day I’ll look up and realize that I’m already on the right path.

Life is definitely more exciting in movies.

There are plots. A developing story. Obstacles that are overcome. Interesting characters. Magical items.

Sometimes my life comes close. There are many times in my life, days where I look at whoever I’m with and say, “Did that really just happen?”

And then there are times in my life when my dreams are far more interesting.

Sometimes there are places I want to be and things I want to do that are just out of my reach. Last October, for my best friend’s birthday, I couldn’t go celebrate with him because he lives in Tokyo and the taxi fare would have been just a little too much. But I was there in spirit. And in my imagination, we went out and had an amazing night.

In Tokyo there is no crime. You can walk around at any time of night and feel completely safe. No one locks their bikes. It’s amazing.

On the night of Justin’s birthday, we woke up and the sun was shining. He lives in this amazing apartment with a sportswear designer roommate, big picture windows, and a tiny back garden with a mini fire pit and a fountain. I sabered open a bottle of champagne and made chocolate chip pancakes and we sat around the garden drinking mimosas and discussing our plan of attack for the day. I promised I would help him spruce up his pad right, so after breakfast we got our goggles and suited up in our white painter jumpsuits before gathering all the paint in the house and starting in.

There’s this great side room in his apartment that opens onto the garden. It’s southfacing, so it gets amazing light all day and we wanted to trap it in and magnify it so got some metallic gold paint and went to work. Before long we got all the ceiling and the walls completely covered in it and it started to look like some crazy egyptian tomb and we had to put on out sunglasses to finish it.

I had made this big drawing of mountains and the sea cascading into this giant pile of brightly colored shapes that were supposed to climb up the walls. We set up the projector and Justin made shadow puppets and danced around to some great funk records while I outlined everything. He started on a ladder at the sky and I started on the floor to paint the ocean and before long we had met on the mountain and climbed up to the crazy shapes. By then it was late and we were exhausted, but we had a ton of stuff to do, so we drank some crazy ass Japanese energy drinks that I swear should have been illegal and I clicked my heels three times and we were on our bikes, flying kites off the back of them through the streets with Justin’s mini ghetto blaster blasting from his basket.

This kind of thing, plus not being Japanese tends to get some attention in Tokyo, and we stopped at lights and struck poses while people on the sidewalk took surreptitious photos on their smartphones.

We went to a friend’s house and she made us some cold noodles and we slurped and slurped while she got ready to go out. This girl is amazing. She has a closet full of wigs and ended up wearing a giant blond beehive with seriously fake lashes and a blue metallic bodysock with platforms built in. She took us to this crazy club that was built to look like a treehouse. You could climb and climb into these little platform rooms and every room had a different drink special. At the top of the fake treehouse was this room that mimicked dawn every 45 minutes and had this infinity pool with, I kid you not, japanese mermaids swimming in it. If you dove in and held your breath, you could go to this totally awesome secret room with one glass wall where you could watch the mermaids swimming, and a deck with a sauna  and a ton of plants that looked out across the city. It was unreal, some weird gateway between jungle and metropolis that totally looked like one of those portals in sci-fi movies to a different universe.

We got lost in the treehouse, and by then we were a little less than coherent, but somehow I remember finding a tiny little door, like in Alice in Wonderland, that set you out into the street. By then we had somehow collected more people and we stopped at a karaoke bar, but after the treehouse club it seemed kind of lame, so we came home instead and put on an impromtu shadow puppet opera with our new friends and a bunch of random japanese opera records we had found mixed with Sun Ra samples before watching the sunrise in the golden room, which was totally bad ass and actually felt like a womb it was so warm from the light.

It was a totally bad ass birthday, even without a birthday cake. It was okay though, because when we finally woke up there was a giant mountain of strawberry cupcakes being carefully constructed in the kitchen. It was almost too beautiful to eat, but then we ate it and omg it was even better.

Birthdays like this are definitely too awesome to not come true sometime soon. I swear. My life is like a movie.

Song of the Day: Whole Wide World – Wreckless Eric

No one needs me to tell them that friends are amazing. The best ones are those that you can call out of the blue, reach out across miles of mountains and ocean, across years of silence or sporadic conversation, to be right back where you once were. Comfortable and easy, safe, excited, relieved.

These last few years have been hard on my psyche. Thought-worms carved villages in my brains, keeping me scared, confused, angry, anxious, and frenzied. Amidst the ongoing fight to wrest my brain from the grips of my trampled, aching ego, a miracle happens.

She: I have a favor to ask you. It’s really big.

Me: Anything you want.

She: I’m starting a goat farm co-op. I just rented a cottage in the middle of nowhere. My house needs to be blue and I need a place to put the goats. Wanna come help me?

Me: (is on her way to the airport)

Shall I mention that this sunchild’s cottage in the middle of nowhere is also on an island (one of a grouping) that is the furthest place from any other landmass you can go to? If I needed to get away (which I definitely did), this is the furthest from everywhere that I could get. Maui.

I left in time to watch the sun setting over the ocean on the way to LA, and arrived at the island in pitch darkness before making the long drive along unlit expanses of highway. It felt like some surreal universe-transportation journey. Enter darkness. Add time and wind and when you wake up, you will be in paradise.

In paradise you can lounge. You can eat ice cream any time you want, and siesta time is whenever you choose. There is a universal whirlpool bath that tumbles you around, with built in bath salts and natural foot pumice. The sun seeps through your pores like syrup and turns your skin the color of glowing. The wind sings to you wherever you go and braids your hair and blows you home again.

We would wake up at dawn, our most productive time of day, and be done with all our work and at the beach by brunch time. We ate when we wanted, slept when we were tired, talked when we felt like talking, and kept silent when our thoughts started to flow. There were happy days and bad days and it wasn’t until the last few days that I felt something inside start to change.

All that chatter, the anxiety. The what, how, when, who, by what means. The “am I happy now? how about now? how about now?” started to fade away. I started to feel more at home in my body. I started to feel like there was something in this world I could enjoy. I started to feel like I could do anything again. Because I could.

We didn’t work a lot. But we pounded posts. We planted seeds. We made a home. We cooked and cleaned and hung out laundry to dry in the sun. We made green smoothies. We listened to our hearts. We were honest. We rested. We recognized what was coming in and what was coming out. We talked and realized we were both equally crazy. And in that realization, it had less power.

Sometimes friends can save your life, but it’s much better when you can save each other.

And now I feel excited. Relaxed. Optimistic, but mostly just open. Free. The chatter is gone and I am so thankful. For you and me, for everyone, for time, for place, for nothing and everything all at once.