I am a mother. I care deeply about being present for my children. Though I feel scattered and faltering much of the time. I miss nature. I am lazy at heart unless intrinsically and overwhelmingly passionate about what I am doing. I miss nature. I feel beautiful sometimes but not beautiful enough. I love to write, but mostly so I can be “heard,” understood. I love men, want a man in my life, want to soften and fall into one, but am terrified of surrendering. I want a garden. I want a kitchen with concrete countertops and stainless appliances. I want an audi. I want to get parenting right. I want to be divorced but I don’t want to be a divorcée. I like to edit, motion pictures, text, words, life … I like to research, analyze, dissect (concepts, not creatures). I liked being vegan, felt cleaner and clearer but I crave meat. I’m an easy crier, a sap, a dreamer, a cynical romantic. I hate being looked at but want to be recognized. I’m starting to feel jealous of young people which is just awful. I love acting but feel ugly when I do it. I still feel like a dork. Stupid. Maybe not stupid, but lame and secretly genius but socially inept. I think that none of this really matters but every detail means something. I want more friends but so many people irk me. I don’t believe in true altruism but do believe I should be more generous and charitable. I want to be special but I really believe everyone is special which means no one is really that special. I thrive on approval and accolades but the establishment can fuck itself.

I don’t want to care about what people will say about me when I’m dead. I’ll be dead!

I care about children, nature and the environment, movies, literature (wish I’d read more and would read more), education, women’s rights, men’s rights, human rights, animal rights. I care about clean air, healthy food and water, the truth about medicine and how we sicken ourselves.

I want to travel. I want enough money to do what I want when I want. I want to do big or do nothing.