Somehow something popped or changed. Perhaps it was Emma saying something funny sexy nice to me. Perhaps it was the boys calling me in to the backyard to witness their latest acrobatics.

I guess I just don't know.

I honestly thought I was writing the preamble to my suicide note.

Has anything changed? No.


I still have the same job in the same place with the same skills in the same body as before. Nothing has changed. In fact, based on a job search yesterday, it has gotten worse:

your search "entry level programming" in "any" 2 results found
Both of them were in India.

So I don't know how anything changed or why it did except that it did. Perhaps I just bounced hard off the bottom and could only go up. Maybe next time the bottom will be deeper. Or shallower. Maybe there won't be a next time. That would be a good thing. I'm heading to the beach this weekend with the gang for some much-needed ocean time. I'll see if the reasons come to me on the tides, but I won't force it.

It is important to note that I emerged without an entirely new world view and another list of unattainable goals to accomplish within 90 days or less. The old values and passions and directions held fast despite the storm.

The only added directive is "don't give up".

Enjoy the tremendous gift of my wife and family. Know that everyday is a barefoot walk on a wildflower path through a garden of jewels, casual masterpieces flitting from tree to tree. Be grateful that my body can still be coaxed and tuned and forged to levels it has never been. Keep writing.

Perhaps it is this last one that may have initiated the bounce.

With nowhere to go, the only place to spill the anguish from my mind in to words. After scribbling down that cry for mercy, I felt somewhat less burdened, the depression release valve cracked just a bit. Perhaps it is the sheer physical act of writing and trying to get those thoughts down that pulled me up enough to wipe the piss and shit from my eyes and show me that there is still hope if i don't give up and just keep at it.

Perhaps there is salvation in writing.

Perhaps linking letters together is the muscular code necessary for perspective, examination, liberation. In that case, I need to do more of it.

If not to tell the story only i can tell, then to keep myself breathing.

Many gracious thanks to all you folks who sent me encouraging notes and offers of comfort and support. To even attempt to explain what it meant to me would be futile so I'll leave it at that. I hope I didn't cause any inconvenience. I promise not to do it again.