November 18, 2004
Tomorrow is the 4th anniversary of my mom's death and the 3rd anniversary of when I decided, "I'm going to become a rock & roll novelist. Yeah, that's a good idea."

As the seconds tick down to midnight, I am deep in thought about a huge life decision that I will probably announce soon. As I walked to my car tonight after work, beaten down by my own ideals about higher education, I heard a loud, insistent chirping. I knew what it was. Once again, a bat, and I knew what it was telling me. It was so loud, I finally stopped walking and yelled, "I hear you already!" Bats symbolize letting go of the past and moving into the future.

Last week, someone (literally) offered me a ticket to paradise (or at least the Keys). "Sorry," I said. "I have too many responsibilities."

Wrong. I have one responsibility. If I love the liberal arts and higher education, then I have to be a model for it, and that means taking a leap and pursuing my deepest love. I wish sometimes that my fire burned for cancer research, but instead it simmers for a book - a really good book - about a woman torn between her passions.

Come what may, as of this moment -- 11:57 p.m., I choose to live the fantasy. (continue)