I’ve been watching my rather nice life self destruct over the past few weeks. The socially acceptable way of saying it is that I’m taking a break. To say that I took more than one pause today is fabricating a moment of self destruction; and who am I to deny you reading those. After all, that’s the juicy stuff right? Here’s the thing….I’m going to Vegas on Tuesday and may not come back, seriously. I’d be going there for a job which means I sign my name to the liver transplant waiting list tomorrow.

This could be the end of my life as I know it. And I don’t mean like I’m going to begin doing something crazy like eat a piece of meat for the first time in twenty-three years. In Texas, I’ve found to my dismay the reaction, “Oh you’re a vegetarian? You don’t look like a vegetarian.” And we all know what that means. The temptation is to punch them in the eye and as they stand there trying to stop the blood say, “Now do I look like a vegetarian?” However, remember that whole thing about being a lady? I don’t believe throwing punches would do the cause any good, so I have abstained. So far.

And today on my morning run I realized how many nontransferable roots I have laid down in Houston. I’ve discovered it’s nice after moving around my entire life, after never living in one location for more than four years, after twenty-nine years of wandering, it’s nice to conclude, maybe I’m home. Then again, never draw conclusions. EVER. There are way too dangerous.

I’ve spent the morning wiping tears from my eyes and putting my best foot forward to take on the world and taking cheap shots at piñata’s while preying they spew more than five cent candy at me.

You should know by now that I’m not one to settle down properly, the yard and the white picket fence is nice but, so are sky lines and oceans. My writing to you has been chaotic, because there’s been way too much in my life that seems to burst or fly sideways only to come back later in a haunting fashion. My predictive capacity for the future is as erratic as my capacity for identifying what I’m going to eat for dinner. Not a clue.

I’ve found that a lot of the people I know, in this city, I know better because of our disorders. No, orders. Er. I’ve grown to love this city of faux-pau cowboys and amazing individuals. Could I ever find another city where I religiously make fun of one friend for her obsession with bronzer and perfume, another who makes up words (make fun of her too), another whose monster comes out of the closet every weekend (make fun of her too), another who does these smoochy faces in all her photos (make fun of her too), another who her and her twin simply trump everything (Yep), and a best friend who he and I don’t last five minutes with out making fun of one another? We’re like one big laughing joke on a bender and I’m only getting started.

There’s this life I have here, the lives I have left behind, and the one I have yet to find. That’s the one, I imagine, where you’re supposed to be able to see and touch your truths, or at least track them through your fancy gadgets thanks to their radar component.

Perhaps, I’m preaching to the converted…look how far we’ve come.

Besides, what would I tell my mother? That I’m moving to Vegas to become a Show Girl? Yeah - like she’d buy that one.