After four woexin Phoenix, a good-paying job at the healthiest work environment I have ever seen, a visit to the Arizona Deliverance Center, which ministry changed my life and whose videos I have been watching for almost 9 years, a move from a ghetto hovel in Mesa, where I found a pill someone spilled on the floor and which I kicked into the rocks outside the door because these days you can't even TOUCH drugs without risking death,

To a nicer, overpriced extended-stay hotel off the 10 freeway,

Through an enjoyable pre-dawn freeway commute past the casino waving like a neon siren under the mountains silhouetted by the rising sun,

And many new friends, it is clear that Louie The Road Cat's separation anxiety is never going to improve. I showed up with him in the van on my 2nd day of work, because he was sleeping in his litterbox the night before (a bad, bad sign), and there was no way I was leaving him in that ghetto hovel to implode and die from depression,

And they wanted to, they asked, but didn't let him in the warehouse for other people's allergy reasons. They did let me leave early without consequence, because they understood, being animal people themselves.

So we found this extended stay hotel, but it doesn't work. After only 2 days on the job, I come back and Louie is pacing the room in a state of mild panic. I started leaving work early, and including drive-time would only be gone for 8 hours, but it wasn't enough. The 12-hour cat music calming videos had little-to-no effect, and (almost) every time I got home, super early, I would receive a lecture from Louie in cat-speak about how unhappy, traumatized, or scared he was that I was gone. I gave him treats and catnip, every day, but it never improved. And finally the job had had enough.

No one on the line, nobody I worked with directly. All those people were cool, and regretted the decision of the bean counters on high, but I told them it wasn't bad news. It wasn't GOOD news, exactly, but it was definitely a relief. I couldn't rush home any more, or linger at the door on the way to work, making absolutely sure Mr. Buddy Boy isn't distressed. Sometimes it took awhile. But the company hired a full-time guy, not a crazy singing nomad, and the decision had been made to let me go.

My immediate supervisor said that I would be the first person they called if a part-time, short-term, seasonal/whatever position opened up, and of course I'd jump at it, them being truly wonderful people to work for and with,

But TBH, to live where. In an overpriced apartment in a city where it's dangerous for small, elderly animals to go outside for heat reasons most of the year, where Louie will never breathe fresh air, and neither of us will ever really, truly be free?

I only came back to the US because of Louie; the only reason I didn't take a freighter from southern Mexico to either Peru or Ecuador 2 or more years ago was because they don't allow pets of any kind on freighters. The trip itself looks like fun. It's not expensive, and if you have the time it takes to take the slow, working-boat route, why not,

But they don't take pets. If they did, we would be hiking through South America right now. Without Louie, I would be doing it myself. It isn't what I want. What I WANT is to sing, but taking care of Louie is by far my greatest privilege. I appreciated him anyway, and told him so, throughout the day. As I have for years. But after these 4 crazy woexin Phoenix, something has shifted in the tectonic bone-plates in my skull.

I get paid tomorrow, but my quarterly car insurance payment is due in a week, and after I pay my friend in LA back for the money we spent at the extended hotel this week, it will cut my payday in half. We will have enough to get away from Phoenix, and in fact we can leave Arizona if we want to. But not much else.

I am a writer, a songwriter, a singer, a bandleader, and a nomad. It wasn't a mystery, but I am committed to it now.  When we crossed through cartel territory and the border with expired DL and license plates last year, I didn't know it was about the people.  I have no America/white guilt, but I didn't come here for any of that.  I came (was led by God) back here for the people, including me.  That has proven to be the entire purpose of my return, so far.  The relationships I had with different gringo friends when I left the US in 2020 are either much, much stronger, or gone completely.  There isn't much middle ground.  But there hasn't been anywhere to keep Louie, which is the only reason I never play (I can't keep him in the van), and no THING (no-thing) here has proven to be long-lasting or even remotely stable.  The PEOPLE, yeah, for sure.  Above and beyond, including my new friends in Phoenix.  But the place....?

I don't know. You tell me.

I'm asking for $1,111, because that kind of money goes a long way in the van, and we may very well need to go a long way. If God inspires you to donate, God bless you, and thank you in advance. If He doesn't, God bless you anyway. We are paid up at this divorced men's hotel through Saturday morning, at which point we will be driving off the edge of the world in the Van of Life. As usual, and again. I look at the map, and because I know this part of the country too well, there are no magnets pulling me in one way or another. Nothing here is new. I do sense that leaving Arizona would feel good. But, funds being limited, we have to commit to a direction, at least. There isn't much margin in which to double back. But God will lead the way. As He always has.

Thanks again. Your donations are abundantly appreciated. And thanks to the people at the warehouse in Scottsdale. I have many new friends. I will miss you all dearly.

Onward, into the everloving fray,

NP