o I take the job.
The story of why I take the job is long and probably boring and involves too many cigarettes and conversations like this:

Me: I just don't know. I don't know, I don't know, I don't know.
Helpful Listener: Well, what do you want to do?
Me: I don't know.
Helpful Listener: What do you think you should do?
Me: I don't ... I'm not sure.

But I take the job, explaining to the nice man who runs the foster home that there is a good chance I will be splitsville in a month or two -- new opportunity, road trip across the country, blahblahblah -- and he says, "That's okay. We're desperate for help. I just hope this road trip falls through and you end up staying." Fair enough.
Have I mentioned the road trip? It's the new plan -- three months driving across the country by myself -- sleeping in my car, seeing my friends (sleeping with my friends? maybe -- who knows?), visiting all the places I've only seen in the movies. Montana. Maine. Mississippi. All the M states. Michigan. Missouri. Moregon.
If everything goes smoothly, I'll leave February 1. Until then, I'm working at a foster home for children with AIDS.
A what? I hear you say.
I know. I know, I know, I know.
It's a strange place. Nine children and a million weird, sad stories. I had my second day today, and I rocked Kevin to sleep. He's the seven month old, the one without a brain.
It's a little intense and strange. Intense and strange and beautiful.