"Still... a pretty good year."
--Tori Amos
You know your day was shitty if you can sum it up with a Tori Amos line. I almost don't know where to start. Saturday, Douglas Adams died of a heart attack. The very same day, a hero of only slightly less stature died of the same cause. His name was Gene Raters, and he was a branch chief at the National Air Intelligence Center. He was a hell of a guy--one of those crusty old government employees who looks like he remembers the last five wars precisely because he does remember them. He was one of the minds that first conceived of ballistic missile defense, and he kept up with the Evil Empire as long as they existed, compiling a vast mental database of their ICBMs and the various tricks they planned to use to get them here. He died so suddenly and unexpectedly, there was no time to ask all the questions we wanted his opinions on before he retired. We all took the morning off today to go to his funeral. I talked to him the day he died: as he was going home, I asked him a stumper of a question on a topic which, while humorous to me, is unfortunately also top secret. His theories seemed dead-on, and brightened my day, and if we publish them, they'll be his last "work" for the intelligence community.
It hit us doubly hard to lose him, because a few weeks ago, one of the other guys in the office lost his wife--she couldn't have been 35--in a car accident, and all three of their boys were seriously injured. They're still recovering. That was really the first thing this year, the first really bad thing. What do you say, what can you do, at a funeral for someone you never met?
I still haven't told anyone in the office that my grandmother died last week. I was glad I took leave a few months ago to attend her 90th birthday party; I didn't know for sure, but I suspected that would be the last time I'd see her, and we got about an hour to talk alone. It's amazing how long it takes before you can talk to your relatives like people and not just characters. But we talked, and without really knowing it, we said our goodbyes. I think she knew it better than I, and I'm touched that she made the effort to finagle some quality time with me. Anyhow--I didn't fly down there this week for that funeral. I felt bad, but also happy that she didn't suffer at all.
I'm sorry if I'm bringing you down... but my point is, I've been in a justifiably bad mood. My perpetual optimism was just enough to keep a positive attitude through all of it. Bored, and not in a mood to stew around the house, I called up my friends in the area and dragged them out to a local bar for some live music and some Guinness. We were gone for 3 hours. When I got back, my house was trashed.
Someone came through the back door and "liberated" my stereo, a gift from my high school roommate, who was also my college roommate and practically my brother. The morons failed to take the 6-CD magazine, the remote control, or the CD collection laying out right next to it. The computer hardware I've been buying to do my quadrennial hardware upgrade--still in the boxes--untouched. The alcohol in the fridge--untouched. My Top Secret access badge--untouched. A checkbook, a Walkman, cordless phones--untouched. All my clothes: strewn. My theory of the crime, as it stands, is that one of my less intelligent neighbors, who sees me wearing camouflage to work every day, failed to make the leap of logic that I'm in the Air Force, and was looking for my M-16 or my M-9. I don't own a gun, though, so their search, though messy, was fruitless. They took a more or less non-functional stereo. I have renter's insurance, and once I pay my deductible, USAA will replace the stereo with one of equal or similar function and quality.
So what did I lose? My deductible. A half-dead stereo. The mix tape I was making for Girlface and the other everythingians, which was the only media in the stereo at the time. My grandmother, whom I was lucky to have for as long as I did. Gene, whose advice and resounding laugh I have already etched in my memory. Douglas Adams, who was kind enough to leave behind some of the funniest prose ever written about bad poetry. Jim's wife--I didn't really know her. We (at work) all lost a piece of Jim, but he's got us, and he's recovering as best someone can.
And my gains? I know how renter's insurance works now. I know that I should practice better OPSEC with my weekly habits of coming and going on a routine. I learned to double-check door locks. And I learned, painfully, that life is temporary and setting an alarm clock for tomorrow morning is an act of faith--that you'll wake up the next day is not a given. I'm making good money, I enjoy my new job more than I ever would have expected, and I'm finally starting to get the hang of this "independent responsible adult" thing. So, still: a pretty good year.