What do you want

Trying to ascertain the wishes of my family, trying to figure out what course of action would satisfy everyone.

"What do you want?" he asked.

I want to take care of my family.

If you are an activist, if you fight for people or animals whom you don't even know, that makes you a hero.

If you try to take care of the people you do know, that makes you lacking in assertiveness.

One thing I want is I don't want them to co-opt the trip.  It has a serious purpose.  If you don't care about that, don't go.  If you jut think it's an excuse for a lark, don't go.

A catalog full of slogans -- t-shirts, buttons, bumper stickers, magnets.

I could put a bumper sticker on my car that says care for the earth.

But how do you really care for the earth? I can drive to the farmer's market or the food co-op to buy local, organic food.  Anything with "drive" in it is not exactly caring for the earth.

When the farmer's market is there, the food co-op is there, I'll drive to it.  Sometimes.  Lots of times I'm too tired to do even that.  But if it's not something that's already there, I'm  not going to create it.  If it's not what my family wants, will I do it?

I can buy bumper stickers.  I don't know if I can do anything else.  I am so tired.  This illness, this job, they consume me.  It's a struggle just to get by.  How can I do more? How can I live up to the person I want to be?

"What do you want?" he asked.

I want time and energy, for I have none, and without them, I cannot live as I choose.

I want to take care of my family.

I want to take care of my community.

I want to take care of the earth.

I want to read books.

I want to learn.

I want to write.

I want to revel in the joy of being outdoors, of seeing sky, trees, and sea.

I want to dance.