I worked tonight, which is not unusual, and I worked on my hurt foot- yet again, not unusual. But, I had the thought that this sickness shit is a manifestation of doing the wrong things (granted, it's a terribly archaic theory, but ocassionally, it still holds water, if you know what I mean) churning in my head. And Lord, did my foot hurt, worse than ever before. And it came to me: I am not meant to work on concrete floors. I don't have all these problems when I work on the earth. I am, in no way shape, form, fashion, made to work in retail.
It's time to accept destiny. I am not made for high powered, absurd amounts of money and materials. I am not made for high heels, diamonds, or rayon. I will not find happiness in all these supposed marks of civilization. I find it stressful, depressing; it stirs a deep anger within me. Most of the people I meet are a waste of good material and breathe up good air they don't deserve, who believe they have an entitlement to absolutely everything.
I am made for the Earth, for animals, for plants. I am made for rain, dirt, and soft cotton. I am made for rainshowers without umbrellas and feet without shoes. I am made for the deep sigh of watching the land settle for winter, not the churning of engines.
This is who and what I am. I can dream of being someone else all I want- or I can be interminably happy with being just what I am, no apologies.
I think it's time I bite the bullet and do what I'm scared to do. I'm going to apply to Green Mountain College. I've been avoiding it ever since the crushing blow from Tulane. I don't know how I'm ever going to pay for it. I didn't know how I was going to pay for Tulane, either, but I believed God would get me through that one. Well, God is talking- it's time I listen. I must step off of square one and onto two. The Universe will deliver. I will have faith. It's taking me back to my Mother, my Earth, my rich brown life-giver....and I will follow. For there is nothing I Love more than the natural wonder of all that truly lives...I care nothing for the hollow existence of people.