What makes you a Wicked Girl?

And so are you.

I'm a Wicked Girl because I quit a stable (if awful) job to go and follow my passion.

I'm a Wicked Girl because, a few years before that, I got out of a marriage that didn't work any more, one that gave me a place to live, food to eat, and money to spend -- but was killing my soul --  and struck out on my own.

I'm a Wicked Girl because I've stopped doing work that doesn't feed my soul. Because I've rejected the stability and predictability of 9-5 for going to bed when I'm tired, getting up when I'm rested, and letting the money come when it will...because I'm doing what I love, and that's worth more than a million kagillion bucks.

I'm a Wicked Girl because, in a few months, I'm gonna leave behind the idea of even having a stable address or a home that stays in one place, and strike out in an RV, living on the road, travelling as I please.

What makes you a Wicked Girl?

When you buy from an independent artist...

[Image reads: When you buy from an independent artist you are buying more than just a painting or a novel or a song. You are buying hundreds of hours of experimentation and thousands of failures. You are buying days, weeks, months, years of frustration and moments of pure joy. You are buying nights of worry about paying the rent, having enough money to eat, having enough money to feed the children, the birds, the dog. You aren't just buying a thing, you are buying a piece of heart, part of a soul, a private moment in someone's life. Most importantly, you are buying that artist more time to do something they are truly passionate about; something that makes all of the above worth the fear and the doubt; something that puts the life into the living.]

Thank you.

Thank you for buying food that I can feed my cats, gas for my car, popcorn for my nightly snack. Thank you for paying to replace that belt that squeaked every time I started my car, for the medications for Emily's autoimmune disorder, for the special food Chocolate needs to eat. Thank you.

Thank you for paying me to play with scents, to layer oils until the texture is just right, to mix salts and test and mix salts and test and mix salts and test until the bath salts are PERFECT. Thank you for giving me ideas for soaps, and then buying them (by the truckload).

Thank you for giving me the opportunity to make my money, and live my life, in the way that I want, rather than in working a soulless job for someone else, whiling away the hours until the weekend, until retirement, resenting every moment.

Thank you for helping me put the life into my living.

Thank you.

Taking the slow way home...

I've always been a fan of taking the back ways -- but one who almost never actually does so. Back in the mists of time, that was because I was involved with someone who always felt like he had to be in a hurry (and, as a result, was always late and/or forgetting something); more recently, out of habit, or guilt, or the (unfortunate) feeling of being in a hurry, myself.

The idea's stuck with me, though. It's one of the reasons I want to take to the road full-time as soon as I can manage it. I've taken a few spectacular side-trips (the one to the Grand Canyon was particularly memorable) but most of the time I find myself thinking 'I'll take that little side road...just as soon as I have the RV. But not yet.' And then hurrying along the main roads, taking the quickest way to wherever I'm going.

I broke out of that thinking a few days ago, though, on the way home from an event in western Maryland. I was taking the fastest way home -- I68 to 70 to 81 to 83 to the Turnpike -- and happened upon US 11. Which, as I know from other adventures, parallels I81 for nearly all of 81's length, but in a much more charming, roundabout fashion.

'But what about all the stuff you need to do when you get home?' asks my traitor mind. Except that, tired as I am after a weekend event, I know I won't do much more than pull the meltable stuff out of the car, stand under the shower until I'm clean-ish, and catch up on email.

'You're so tired...you've got to get home as quick as you can, before you fall asleep!' Only it's the highway that makes me drowsy, all the long featureless miles of it.

'You can't afford all the gas to go home the long way!' But avoiding the turnpike also avoids several dollars in tolls. And...aren't there things more important than a few bucks worth of gas, anyway?

Traitor mind vanquished, I proceeded up Route 11, and thence to Route 30, through Amish country, Gettysburg, and right past Dutch Wonderland, a real gem of backroads Pennsylvania kitch. I got home an hour later than I would have otherwise...and had a lovely time. I'll be doing this again.

How do you take a little time from your busy life, and take the slow way home? How could you add a little of this to your life?