Today is D-1 Day. Tomorrow, Vaterstaat will decide whether or not he wants to disown me, sending me off to live with my Uncle Sam; who, for better or worse, could really give a fuck. Uncle Sam has never really shown me the love that Vaterstaat does. Oh, I know, a real loving, Ozzie and Harriet-style father wouldn’t take three fourths of everything I earn, kick me out of my apartment, threaten to jail me, then deport me. But it’s tough love, you know? He wants what’s best for me, is all.

But then again, what is the best for me? Jump-starting is not the best way to get a car going, but sometimes it’s the only way. Well, you can always roll-start it; but I heard that’s bad for the catalytic converter, whatever that is. What would I do if they kicked me out of the country? First of all, I’ll exchange my Euros for some sort of stable currency, like Chinese Yuan, something with some worth to it. Then, I’m going on an x-day bender, x being the number of days they give me to go on said bender. Then, I’ll sell my snowboard, I guess. Not much use for that thing in Woodstock, Georgia I’ll wager. Then I’ll call ahead for a reservation at the Wade Green Waffle House for the week covering December 13-19; on second thought, just save that back table for me 24/7 until further notice, girls, the boy’s got a grits-deficiency to take care of.

Where does one go from here? I’ve been on the road now for damn near seven years. You can’t go home again. I tried once, and that was an abject failure. As scary as it is to lose everything, once it happens, you’ve got a lot of freedom. You’ve nothing to lose, and every option is open. All you need’s a plan, and that will come in time.

Why couldn’t this have happened before the Jawja Blogfest? At least then I could’ve gotten my ass kicked at half-rubber, only to exact my sweet, sweet revenge with a rough-and-tumble game of street hockey. Now there is a sport of kings.