To address some things in the comments from last post, I didn't mean "goodbye" to you, my readers. I tried to underline that...in my own poetic way. Then again, I paint with a lot of mood, so you absorb my feelings. Which have lots of Goodbye in them lately. So it makes sense to read it that way, regardless of what each word said.

Thank you, commenter NLinStPaul for your words on other posts I've written since the one I mentioned. You are right. I didn't mean to say that The True Front of Progressivism was the last good post, or even my best (or my favorite). Just that...it's been turning over in me. It was a piece in a puzzle. And the "Goodbye" was not to blogging, but is one that recognizes that a cohesive "Liberal" and "Progressive Blogosphere" as it were, is a fiction. Because it is. It's a construct that does not exist.

Out here in the blogosfere we think out loud. It rolls on, the conversation rolls on. Goodbye to certain expectations (although it's very possible I'll need to relearn the lessons on different levels). Goodbye to a certain idea. A certain phase of my own thinking, or interaction with certain things. (Maybe you won't notice the difference?) But not to writing here overall. I'm just too much of a bigmouth for such grand promises!

Fire to make charcoal, charcoal to mark a line. A circle to study the wind, tears for glazing and wine. We begin again, renewed again, seek light again in the glow of dawn's fire. Fire to make charcoal, charcoal to mark a line.

SO HERE YOU SEE the Ladder of Challenge. And while there are no numbers marked, the lines do represent cash! Because that's what folks take in the way of payment, for food, for apartments, for used cars, for gas. This was part of my organizing when the news came down that we had a month to get out. I sometimes try on the title "survivalist," and part of that means when news like that comes in, no matter what, you do not give in to panic. Almost no money in the bank? No car? Part time job? Residence becoming unavailable? Baby? Garage full of things? What to do?

So I asked mi novia to come up with a number that was barebones. The very least we'd need to move—and this assumes throwing out a bunch of our things, living hand to mouth, no furniture, no frills, no safety net. (We would have to have internet, because not only is that the newspaper, the phone, much community and family interaction, but also how I make my money these days!) But really, any amount was just ridiculous because how were we gonna get it? She even asked me, but how are we gonna come up with anything? But you know, the plan becomes important. Planning, keeping a sense of control, and marking things out clearly, setting up goals, thinking ahead.

So she came up with a number. Granted, it didn't leave much cushion, and it assumes a tiny bit of good fortune, but that's how you have to slice it sometimes. When we made the move to NY, we took a friend's tiny tiny room (like big closet tiny) for 30 days with no guarantee of work or safety net, and we did it. We both eventually got employed and moved out and moved out and moved out and up each time until we were doing pretty damn well. That was a risk. And that's how it goes, right? No guts, no glory, to borrow a military slogan, jeje. So, the number. The Impossible Barebones Number. I had no idea how we'd get there. I made a graphic to keep track of what we would raise, ebay, call in, borrow, find....

But I had to remake the image on the right because after I wrote the last post, three people got in touch with either work or donations, and combined with the handful we had on us, we are 2/3 of the way to our "impossible amount" in only one day! It's the most unexpected of events. Now, our spirits are much higher, and I'm starting to hope a bit daringly. I am personally overwhelmed with the generous spirit shown by these readers. For a while there, we were extremely stressed out. Not having a place to go or money when you have a little one can do that to you. The truth of it is, if it were just me or just me and the old lady, whatever. We could rough it. Hit the road. Play it all romantic, beatnik, wanderer stylie. Sleep in the lap of fate! Done it before. But a one year-old can't rationalize a belly ache or being woken up in a park by a cop, or even the word "Kerouac!" So that's out.

I think the people who eat college loan interest are sucking up all our tax returns, so that's shot. I might as well eBay that GOP RNC confetti early, who knows what wingnut might get into a bidding war on it. I'm counting on a hardcore Bush-Ten-Percenter to spend high as a way of reinforcing their stubborn loyalty against the low prices of treason. I have to send in an invoice for some work I did a few weeks ago (tho you know how it goes with invoices), and I'm trying to cash out the 401K junk from the last job I had. So we have a few more areas that could raise the kitty. And as we get closer to the top of that ladder, I will give you peeks so that you aren't pacing all night worrying, as I know you want to.

Even if we can't get all the way to our Impossible Next Level Barebones Amount, we know now we will not be in the local shelter, and that is a big relief for us. At worst, we can get into a (crummy) cheap apartment around here, and that beats the street. But one of my wife's friends down in Long Beach wants to make up with her mother so she can talk to her friend who can rent us a room or two in a house she lives in. So we may decide to make the jump to somewhere there is less...Pacific North West around. Again, a risk. We'd have to hook into work...and so on. But we have about thirty days to get things together. I'm feeling it out, we're feeling it out.

SO WELCOME to the new Chronicles of Nezua. I will keep you updated on day to day drama, as well as stop in to do some dreaming. It won't all be coin counting and classified listings. También, I have a couple posts that are almost done and have been waiting in the wings, stirring orange sauce.

One more time, big love and thanks to mis campañeros y campañeras. Now, I've got to get back to work.