Thursday, I had my first job interview in almost 4 months. I thought that it went very, very well. I met with more than a dozen people over the course of an 8-hour interview and, by the end of the day, the people I was talking to had stopped using the hypothetical voice when talking about the projects that were coming up. It is usually a good sign when the tenor of the conversation shifts from "this is the sort of project that you would be working on" to "on our next project you'll be focusing on low-level protocol issues".

Yesterday they called back and said that they decided that they weren't going to hire me. Their process requires that every person you interview with recommend hiring you but, in my case, there was a single holdout who didn't think I was right for the job.

We put our house on the market today. My wife and I cried after the real estate agent left. Like everyone, we worked our asses off to get the house. We love this place. We love the backyard with its beautiful 50-year old cherry tree that I hung a rope swing off of for the kids. We love the kitchen that has hosted so many good meals, that brought forth the first Christmas dinner our son ever had in the first year that Santa Claus came down our chimney. We love the neighborhood. This is home.

Our kids don't understand, they just know that we're moving back to Colorado because Daddy can't find a job in Seattle. They don't understand why Mommy and Daddy are always so grumpy, or why they can't go to dance class or gymnastics anymore. But they still laugh infectiously as we chase each other through the rapidly growing pile of boxes. That's something, at least, kids are kids and will find a way to be happy no matter what is going on around them.

We don't know what will happen next. We haven't found a place to live, yet, back there. We're hoping that a friend's mom with a basement apartment that she rents out will be willing to rent it to a family of four. If that should not come through we're afraid that we may end up crashing in my mother-in-law's basement until we get our feet back under us.

I know this isn't traumatic by overall global standards. There is absolutely no possibility that we are going to end up homeless in the sense that our kids are getting rained on or sleeping in snow drifts. None of us have missed any meals, nor will we. From the perspective of a single mother in Afghanistan we've still got it fucking made. But from here, inside the American Dream, things are looking pretty grim.