nada nada nada

Que pasa? Que tal? What's up? No matter how you ask, my answer is always the same: nothing, nothing, nothing.

I went to the US because I had to do that six-month Mexican visa thing. I had to deal with the State of Arizona which had revoked my vehicle registration because my Oregon vehicle insurance wasn't good enough for them, the bastards. I had to do something with the color of my hair - the gray roots and screaming white blond ends was not a pretty combination. I had to stock up on supplies for every fucking gringo in the park.

So I went to Tucson where I accomplished all of the above. In addition I got to see my niece for the first time since her trip through a car windshield. She is doing great. For the first time since his leaving The Home of Dashed Hopes, I visited with The Rancher at his new trailer park. He is still one of my most favorite people. I caught up with him in the billiards room where he shoots pool with other old farts every single morning. I had a beer with Jailbird Jr, caught up on the whereabouts of The Jailbird (stuck in the Midwest), and was thrilled that Jailbird Dog went nuts when she saw me.

I checked out my feelings as I drove through southern Arizona. Is this my home? Is this where I'm meant to be? Will I return there?

The Home of Dashed Hopes looked sad and depressing even though it is fairly cleaned up; the piles of junk and burnt out RV's the old owners left lying around have been removed but still most of the trailers in the park are old and beat-up adding to the air of dereliction while the rigs in the park next door are all new and grand.

I visited my fellow barflies and they seemed sad and depressing, too. One with good reason (like an impending court case where he may lose everything he's worked so hard for) but most because they spend their days inside a dark bar drinking Budweiser and telling the same old stories over and over again.

I don't want to go back to that trailer park or to that bar. However, southern Arizona still has its draw.

"How long will you be in Mexico?" people asked and I said only "I don't know."
"Where will you go?" and I said "I don't know."
"What kind of work will you look for?" and I said "I don't know."

All I do know is that things will work out without much intervention from me. At least that's my plan if you can call it a plan. What's going on? Nada nada nada.