Left early Monday morning for the big trip down to Miami. I love getting up early. It happened when I turned 40 and took me by surprise. I've always loved sleeping in. I hated waking up for work in the mornings and I used to count the days until Saturday AM when I could lie in bed and refuse to get up until my bladder said, "This is ridiculous." But when I hit 40 it was like a sleep-in switch was turned off. I started waking up at 5AM on a regular basis. Now I love getting up before the sun. I feel like I'm going to be first in line for everything.

It's a long drive from here to Miami in my ten year old truck.

I love my truck. Truck used to feel out of place when I was living in LA. It used to complain that it wasn't like all the other shiny, smaller cars made by cruel German men in white lab coats. I would rock Truck to sleep telling it of places where the very cars that ridiculed it were looked down on and trucks weren't freaks but the normal kids in class. While driving here from LA, Truck was overjoyed when we hit Texas: "Father, it's true. Everybody's just like me here."

Now Truck has plenty of friends and I've never seen him happier.

Another thing that changed when I hit 40. I love driving by myself. I used to hate driving but especially driving long distances by myself.  Now I love spending alone time with Truck and could easily see myself driving aimlessly through the States like David Carridine did in the series Kung Fu. Except he walked. I bet if he was driving a truck fewer people would've picked on him when he came into a new town.

On the Road

First thing I noticed while driving from here to Miami - there are a lot of dead opossums on the side of the road. There's so many it makes you think something's up. Are opossums the last of the woodland creatures to catch on to the dangers of crossing Interstate Highways or do they find life in the woods so intolerable that they commit suicide at the wrong end of a bumper or perhaps they're just practicing their namesake. If it's the later, then opossums have evolved to such a high state of 'playing opossum' that it involves not just lying still but special effects makeup to make it look like their bodies are spread over several meters. 

Second thing I noticed, there are a lot of billboards trying to convince motorists not to have abortions. Personally, I was on the fence about having one. After the eigteenth billboard told me that my baby's heart start's beating 18 days after conception I decided I'm keeping my little zygote. Papa don't preach. However, I will name it Satan Speaks. Friends will call him Phil. 

Was listening to NPR (America's version of the CBC which is Canada's version of the BBC). The story was about a guy who had murdered a man - did twenty seven years and was finally granted parole but the Governor overturned that. The State Supreme overturned that decision and the doors of San Quentin swang wide. The kicker to the story was that while he was in the joint (that's what the kids call prison these days - I know, it's crazy) he fell in love and was able to marry and be with the woman he loved. Says I to me, "If a guy who murdered somebody gets to be with the love of his life then I damn well better get this visa to be with my fiance. I've never even shoplifted."

Big City - Sticky Floor

Five minutes in Miami and I was reminded of everything I hate about big cities - the noise, the dirt, the crowds, the traffic, shabby prostitutes all the concrete and pavement. Once again, something that switched when I was in my 40's.  I used to love shabby prostitutes (not in a professional way - merely in an urban cosmetic sense).

I'd made a reservation online at what turned out to be a really crappy motel. The motel was so crappy I wondered why I needed a reservation. The tv in the room was mounted on the wall and safely contained in a wire cage - like they do in prisons. The blinds on the windows were missing several panels. The floor was absolutely disgusting. I made the mistake of taking off my shoes and within seconds my feet were sticky. From then on, the sandals never left me feet. As I was staring at the hole in the ceiling filled with wires where the fire alarm should have been I had an epiphany.

"Jesus, Joseph and Mary but I'm tired of crappy apartments and shitty hotel rooms. It's not that I'm better than this but I can do better than this. Last year I refused to compromise my emotional life and tracked down the woman I've been in love with for twenty years. This year I refuse to compromise other aspects of my life. I refuse to not make a living at something I enjoy that makes  a half decent living."

"Hi - I'm in charge of making your dreams come true....or not."

I was fifteen minutes early for my meeting at 9AM. I thought they might be giving out extra points if I was early.  I was the first meeting for the Visa Lady. The Visa Lady looked more like a summer intern that was filling in for the regular Visa Lady. I told her I was applying for a Travailleur-Independent visa. She asked me what type of visa that was and where I heard about it.  While she was going over my documents she asked me where I found the application forms for the visa. I told her that I Googled them and downloaded them. She seemed completely surprised by my request - like I was making it up.

Then the Visa Lady took my passport and said that if everything was complete they should be sending me back my passport back to me with the visa in 2-3 weeks. I asked her when she thought I could be in France if everything was approved. She said that I should be there by the end of February and then wrote down February 28, 2010 on one of my applications as an aside to being official.

I was surprised that they took my passport for an indefinite period of time with the promise that it would be sent back to me with visa intact.  I've travelled a bit to places that need visas but nobody's ever held on to my passport. But I felt it a good sign that they held on to my passport. It's one of those things that if somebody takes it - they have to give it back to you.

Jumped into Truck after the meeting and was in high spirits. It felt like the first step in getting to France and officially being with my fiance again had been completed. The three months I spent there were great. I loved being with her and I love Nice. But while I was there I kept thinking, 'This would be perfect if I could stay here legally.' It felt like a piece of the puzzle was missing. After my meeting at the French Consulate in Miami I felt like the Visa Lady was going to get that piece for me.

I'd consider myself an optimist for the most part. But when I want something really badly I prepare for the worst so that if it happens I'm not surprised and not so bummed. But I felt like I was going to get what I wanted after I dropped off my thick pile of papers.

A ten hour drive, several burgers and many more dead opossums later I was back in a town that's been really good to me. Since leaving LA and getting divorced this part of the U.S. has been a safe haven. It's a beautiful and little known part of the country. My sister, her husband and my Mom have been great at propping me up after the gut punch of divorce. There have also been a lot of folks here who have helped me out with work and just being hospitable.  I'm grateful to all and I do think this is a great place to live... but it's not my home. My home is a one bedroom apartment in Nice with a front balcony that has a view of the Negresco and a bedroom that I never want to leave.