2011 and it is resolved:

I have to get this art book finished
Get the poetry book out
Wrench my charity money back from the grubby hands of these horrible people
Paperwork completed
Get a new job

When I get the new job, I'll have time to:

Date everybody
Play drums in a band with Cuddles
Write THE book about Kid Jail
Hang out more at the Chicago Freedom School and 826CHI
Exercise

And boom! it's winter, I just got it. That joke wasn't funny anymore last month and I just now got it. I hate all my thick clothes and my boots that keep me warm and dry. I only want to eat beans and pizza and lay on my couch complaining that I'm on my couch. Here is the most apt metaphor of where I'm at, in my life, right now, but it involves some set-up:

I decided to drive a 1998 Jeep Cherokee to Unicorn School in early January, an opportunity to see friends with babies in Pittsburgh PA and Auburn NY, places I, to be honest, would not be visiting otherwise. From one angle this was the perfect plan, and it was the heart angle, so that's what I did. Babies and friends and new cities and not work are all things my heart likes.

From the brain angle, my Evil Bosses all but told me I would be fired if I tried it; I haven't driven for more than an hour since 2001; I am terrified, terrified, petrified of winter driving; I would be driving through America's Snow Belt in early January; and as soon as I got in the ride, the stereo turned out to be held together with Elmer's glue and the rear view mirror fell off.

Still staring at the mirror in my hand, marvelling at my own strength, a possible new job called. Of late I have been receiving too many messages from the Universe, and that's the truth. 'But what does it mean?' I yell to the Universe, messages in both hands. Which is good? What is happening?

I was sad driving through Toledo because with my mom lost to mental illnesses and my Dad moving to Cali, my connection to Toledo will be reduced to the overly-orange mental pictures of a not-that-great childhood. I waved. Outside of Cleveland I hit the shit and it was 25 mph in zero visibility, cars strung together in a necklace of terror. This is moment-to-moment living, for me--I can't see, and I'm scared, and I want to stop the car and just wait for it to pass.

And surprise, there's the apt metaphor: I can't see what's next and I'm scared and I'm wondering what the fuck I was thinking--what the hell am I doing, following my heart on adventures all the time? I'm not a character in a book I'm an actual person--but whatever, it's too late, stopping would be death and I just have to keep going, assuming that I'm not going to die in the next few minutes and that something awesome is in store.

And there was awesomeness--baby boys and little girls, friends and their cozy homes. Everyone settled in and making families. I got to the Mountain and the topic was community. The questions were:

Who am I?
Where am I going?
Who am I going with?

I'm not sweating the first question. The second question, good Lord, and the third question I've been steady asking since I quit drinking. I've been asking it all my life, but when I quit drinking I was really, really, really asking.

No answer yet so I'll keep going and this snow will let up eventually.