I’m here.

Today it was sunny.  Yesterday it was sunny.

The four days before that, the sky was the color of an armadillo’s iris and I could. hardly. deal.

The thing of it is that none of this was a surprise: I knew that it was going to be like this when I got on the plane to Hamburg. I also knew that it was unlikely I would actually want to teach English to Germans. Now that I’ve stood on trains with them and stared over their blonde coiffures and statuesque body lines and glassy eyeballs and perfect postures towering over me like trees over a befallen acorn with frizzy hair, I can’t imagine teaching them… anything. Not even a language I speak. Not even how to stand in English. Or blink.

But really, REALLY, and folks this is the honesty talking, I don’t want a job. I don’t want to work. I am in Europe with enough money left for a little more adventure and the thought of staying here and staring at the gray canvas called sky as I traipse on the sidewalks through sludge and sleet is not getting me to the church on time.

So instead, I will go to Istanbul. Perhaps?

The fact is, yesterday our very affordable and adorable AirBnB reservation was cancelled. We requested a refund and I also realized that my money has this quality that it shares with water which is the ability to evaporate.

Seeing as I have very few plans, I guess I will go to Asia in January and teach English. I could also go home for four months in preparation for significant CEREMONIES IN SEVERAL FRIENDS’ LIVES in the coming months I will not mention names CATE and EVERYONE ELSE on FACEBOOK.

Also, are there any people in the mafia who would like to give me some money? Gary Oldman in the first half of The Professional starring an effervescent Natalie Portman at age 11?

Really, I think this trip must have been misguided. NO WAIT conclusion affirmed- IT WAS. You wanna know why? And I will now invite you into the tent of secrets under which all special stories are traded and shared and are not to be distributed: I came chasing a memory, one night of grandeur in Hamburg from last June that hasn’t left my memory since, thinking and hoping and wishing that it would come true if I just poured all the same ingredients into my pot of recreation.

You know what, I’ve been stirring said pot on a low heat setting since my arrival and something interesting has happened: nothing. The ingredients are all bobbing about and staring up at me with the voices of Whoopi Goldberg and Charlie Sheen spurting: “Now Why Are We In Here Again?” “And I whisper ‘shhh you’re asking a question whose answer I’ve realized is a very dumb idea.’

It’s not Summer 2015, I don’t have one foot in America and one foot in Europe. Both of my feet are actually 15 inches from my butt right now, wrapped in socks and sore from walking all over this city with no plan. The plan was to teach English but please see the beginning of this post for how that’s going. I’ve sold everything but my cat, my car, and my collection of scrapbooks bearing on the support beams in my parents attic. I moved out of my apartment for a price I’m unlikely ever to find again thanks to a friend discount, and luck. I actually cannot go back.

But I don’t want to be back there.

I want to be in the embrace of a blank slate, wielding wet paint at a lamppost like a motherfucker high on visions of street art and hopped up on hippie reason. I don’t want schedule, I don’t want obligation. I don’t want annual reviews at a mindless job. I don’t want long highways that stretch into zip codes that numbers don’t even recognize, where days are numbered and numb. I don’t want healthcare and a responsible job, retirement funds and IRAs. I don’t want therapy every other Wednesday for 50 minutes that costs more than I spend on a month’s groceries.

I don’t want to own a dryer and pay for the power that runs it. I just want to wander into an alleyway in a medieval town and balance on one stone for 20 seconds until I feel it’s significance has expressed itself into the sole of my boot.

I want magic, beauty, old, emerging, and life-giving air. I want to walk, everywhere. I want to carry my belongings on my frame and pull the rest through the weight of my arms.

I can’t be famous, I’ve decided that’s a price too high to pay on chance.

So I must be foreign. But I can’t be somewhere in between. Not today.

I will not sacrifice a sweet today for a sexy tomorrow. If it’s not here yet, I’ll relish what’s in my reach. That’s Germany, my backpack, and what’s left in my bank account.

I hope the SomeDay Me will understand the decisions I make today.

For Now,