I'd really like to finish the rest of my online schooling elsewhere. I don't necessarily need to be in San Diego right now. Not until it's time to start my teaching credentials, and I have until next September for that.

I'd love to go somewhere new, preferably not in the states. Stay with someone and work a menial job where I help/serve people, or I don't know, do something meaningful. I'm tired of these jobs in offices and jobs in sales and jobs where I hardly work with my hands, brain, or heart. It doesn't make sense to me how people do that their WHOLE lives when there's a great, big, giant world out there full of mystery. Teeming with opportunity and adventure.

Not much of anything makes sense to me these days, though.

Europe would be nice. Europe feels like home. Ideally England but I'd be perfectly content in France, Ireland, the Netherlands... Anything. Does it sound like I'm trying to run away to find happiness, or that it's absolutely necessary to my existence? Because I feel like it's the latter. I love home, but my soul aches for more. I don't think I'm trying to run away to find happiness. I think the act of running away is my happiness. Does that make sense?

I've never considered myself a regular traveler. One who goes away for a bit and then comes home just fine. To be honest, I'd love to make travel my life. Would love to be in a constant state of visiting new places, seeing new things, meeting new people, etc. I'm less of an "Eat, Pray, Love" traveler and more of an Alexander Supertramp--"There is no greater joy than to have an endlessly changing horizon."

Writing and traveling share the number one spot for what makes me most passionate, and I believe my destiny involves both. How to make that work is what's stumping me right now.

I need to write. I feel so stuck, which is strange because I'm depressed. Aren't writers who are unhappy write the most? Maybe my depression is just too severe that I can't even do what I enjoy anymore. At least I still read... A lot. But I have two typewriters I don't use, notebooks not yet filled, and stories and poems that need to come out of me.

I gotta pull myself together. I don't know what I'm waiting for... I guess a green light or an open window? A huge, bright sign pointing me in the right direction? God showing up at my front door with clear and written directions? Bleh. Waiting sucks, and I don't want to be the person who realizes too late that I shouldn't have waited. But it seems like that's all I can do right now... It's the only thing I have the strength to do.