Like a boxer recovering from a particularly well-placed right-hook, I’m surprised to see it’s only been a month since I last wrote anything of substance.

It feels a lot longer than that.  Still unsure what to call it, I’ve been in this kinda “grey” mood lately.  I’m not even sure “grey” provides an accurate picture.  The only certainty has been uncertainty.

There was no shortage of emotions and feelings.  When it came to the trivial such as work, weather or the Packers – I still had a voice.  An often cynical, dark, occasionally inappropriate voice, but a voice nonetheless.

The challenge was the important thoughts and emotions – everything personal - they were unable to make it beyond the inner-reaches of my mind.  Attempts to observe them turned into a frustrating game of quantum entanglement where the thought would either change or evaporate upon consideration.  This left an emotionless, opinion-less mute of a man – I’m sure to the frustration of those closest to me.  Certainly for poor AT.

Speaking of AT, with her help I’ve been able to take advantage of the occasional eruptions of motivation.  The house remains (relatively) clean, cats are healthy, laundry kept up and, thanks to my bro and sister-in-law, I’ve started brewing beer and growing button mushrooms.  Shit, I’ve even been driving!

Still…… It’s been an uphill struggle fraught with minimal self-confidence and uncertainty.  I’m not even sure if the struggle is what brought me this far or the “power of the grey” is simply losing it’s grip.  Well, to be honest, those minor victories did give me something to hold on to when things are looking bleak.  It didn’t seem like much at the time, but when there’s nothing else to grab on to…..

I still spend an inordinate amount of time pondering whether or not I’m completely full of shit.  Is all this reflection and analyzation window dressing for what’s really just a lazy, un-motivated loser who’s unwilling to maintain a stable, happy life?

And these are the thoughts that effortlessly pass from one neuron, one moment, to the next.

I wonder if my silence during these periods is really just expansion of my usual coping mechanism against the crazy thoughts – ignore them.  Well, not actively ignore them in as much as avoiding giving them any more power.  I’ve learned if I turn my analytical brain on those thoughts, deeper into the rabbit hole I will fall.  Instead, I refuse to give them power, or a voice.  And when the crazy thought factory is cranking out product at a furious pace, then end result is I don’t have a voice. Or opinion. Or feeling.

It becomes all about trying not to trip over the precipice into the abyss.  I’ve been there. They don’t sell t-shirts.

The focus now is to hold tightly to those things in my life which bring light and try not to spend time worrying about “How long will it last this time?” or “Will I be able to completely get out of this fog?”  This is why I try to be focused on the present.  NOW is what matters most.  Nothing can be done about yesterday and tomorrow has yet to be defined.

If all goes well, I’ll be able to drink my first home-brewed beer on my birthday and, shortly thereafter, consume sautéed mushrooms I grew all by myself.

It ain’t much, but I’ll take it.

And now it’s time to triple-star a few more levels in Angry Birds for Facebook.  ’Tis a shame I’m the only of my friends playing, but I’m still having fun, and that’s what matters most.

Known primarily for my IT prowess, many would wisely guess my first love was either computers, technology or electronics.

Mom tells stories of my pinball wizard-like antics somewhere in the vicinity of 4-years-old.  Grampa Rollie would take pride in watching his tiny little grandson play pinball perched on a stool, arms out-stretched like seagull in flight – leaving my chin on the glass and eyes fixated on the silver ball bouncing to-and-fro.

That may be an early tell of my life-long love of all things technological, but I don’t remember any of it.  The first love I can recall happened years later, around the age of 11, and it had nothing to do with technology.

It was my first violin.

I played for a year, maybe two, and wasn’t particularly good at it.  I usually played 3rd chair violin, though I think I was allowed to play 2nd once.  This was also the only extra-curricular activity I partook in all my school days.

It began innocently enough with mom asking if I’d like to play a musical instrument during the upcoming school year.  I’m not sure what, if anything, motivated her to ask such a question, but I do recall being caught off-guard by it.  Having poor social skills, school was a literal nightmare for me prior to puberty (one of the few benefits I received from puberty was growing taller and wider, at wich point my schoolmates FINALLY left me the fuck alone).  I don’t recall mom being all that involved in my life (for both good and lame reasons), so that may have also contributed to my shock.  Strangely her idea, which had never occurred to me prior to that, caught my interest.  I just had to figure out which instrument I wanted to play and she’d hook me up.

Even at that age I had a highly analytical mind, likely due to the extra elbow room given to “logic” and “reason” by the absence of “social skills”.  I carefully weighed my options, choosing between wind, percussion or string.  Percussion was immediately off the table due to the high annoyance factor and the fact we lived in one of three or more closely spaced apartments.  I wrote-off wind either because the idea was un-appealing or the equipment rental was too expensive, I’m not really sure.

That left string.  I just needed to choose the instrument, and here is where my mind goes fuzzy as I have no idea what drove me to pick the violin.  Maybe it was my ignorance (I was in orchestra for quite awhile before I knew what a viola was), or maybe it was just fate – all I know is how certain I was of that choice.

And I gotta hand it to mom. In one of her more shining moments I recall from my childhood, she made it happen.  It seems that almost overnight I had a violin, case, bow, rosin and a one of those chrome-plated portable music stands that fold into a convenient box (I hated that music stand – it was flimsy, could barely hold the weight of my workbook and eventually the chrome started flaking off making it look like crap).

Oh yeah! Let’s not forget the poster of Uncle Sam pointing at me, insisting: “I want YOU to practice every day!”  While the poster was effective in instilling guilt (a simple feat for the likes of me) it wasn’t so effective with it’s stated purpose.  More on that later.

I don’t specifically remember the first day I started in orchestra, likely because every day I had to go (I think it was 2-3 days a week) was an anxiety-laden adventure made worse by the fact I had to walk past the entire band to get to the orchestra room.  I was terrified of the other children since I never know which one will decide to pick on me, but I felt, I dunno, motivated?  Nah, that’s not it.  ”Driven” is a better word.

You see, I had this odd relationship with my violin.  I was totally mesmerized by it and everything about it.  The instrument alone was a beautiful piece of work – warm-toned wood showing delicate stripes one could only see up close, pitch-black fingerboard and flowing curves all around the outside.  The bow, likely synthetic horse-hair even back then, was soft and strangely technologic in it’s design and function.  And, oh that wonderful rosin, which was made from REAL tree rosin back in those days.  I’ve always been olfactory-oriented with the scent of evergreen being a solid favourite. In this tiny, delicate package, every one of my five senses were kept occupied.

Though I was mesmerized, I was also frustrated, confused and afraid of it.  Learning the technicalities of playing was strangely simple for me, almost too simple.  I quickly learned to read the music I was presented, able to translate notes on the page directly into (roughly accurate) finger positioning.  While I did keep certain notes in mind, such as B-flat and F-sharp, I rarely thought about the names of the notes I was playing.  It was all “see this note, put that finger there” in my head.  Any touch-typist would quickly recognize this process.

This worked well for me, until the time I decided to program a Timex Sinclair 2068 computer (my first, by the way) to play a full 4-score piece for the science (or was it talent?) fair.  How musically ignorant I was became quickly apparent when I learned things like: 1) The G-clef is not the only one, 2) Not all instruments have the same number of strings, 3) And even if they did, they aren’t necessarily the same notes, and 4) There are octaves out there not available to a violin.

I digress.

My fingering wasn’t the best, probably because I had difficulty remembering to “KEEP YOUR DAMN WRIST DOWN!”, as our ever-sweaty orchestra teacher told us over and over and over and over again.  Bowing presented an extra challenge, bringing me a deep hatred of the E-string.  Again, I easily understood the technical underpinnings of bowing, but the nuances (pressure, angle, etc) frequently escaped my abilities.  Tuning?  OH MY GOD, tuning was a nightmare, and I believe this is one of the first examples of my long, painful obsession with perfection.  I never felt I could get it right and would frequently avoid practice just because I didn’t feel like dealing with the anxiety behind tuning my instrument.

I think that’s what put this love affair on a path for failure.  Having recently made attempts to re-kindle this passion, I know now it was practicing, above all else, that would have helped in building on those natural abilities until I became a decent player.  Since I despised practicing almost as much as homework, I never really became that good.  I had the passion and some of the natural ability, but that wouldn’t make me good - that requires work.

Well, for me it does.

I can’t recall how long that period of my life lasted.  I especially don’t remember precisely why I stopped playing.  At some point (before these violin days I think) I saw an Atari 2600, which was the catalyst for the second love of my life – technology.  However long it lasted, eventually the violin was gone, replaced by whatever technology books and magazines I could get my hands on.

Even though my passion for technology has been the primary motivation since then, that first love has always been in the back of my mind.  Throughout the years I’ve fondly reflected on those times, only recently taking action and practicing violin again.  A few Christmas’ back, my brother and sister-in-law gave me a sparkly blue violin, which isn’t the best quality in the world, but perfect for my new needs and, hell, it’s so COOL looking!  My goal?  If I add some polish and sweat to those natural talents, will I reach that “oneness” I see and admire in skilled musicians?  From my perspective, it’s a relationship.  Right now, my violin and I are a couple – two individuals dancing around each-other, trying to figure where each fits in relation to the other.  What I’m striving for is a partnership, where we operate as one and I’m not so much playing the instrument as I am part of the instrument (and it is part of me).

Will I get there?  I have no idea, but intend to determine how far this rabbit hole goes.

There have been no GI-based attacks in well over a month. Closer to two months at this point. Where they came from and where they went to remain a mystery with my GI docs, primary doc and myself. I’m still scheduled to begin pain management classes next week, though with no pain to manage, not sure how helpful they will be. Just in case, we scheduled a follow-up appointment with GI in April, with instructions to call them immediately if the attacks return. I’d be frustrated if I wasn’t so relieve to be pain-free.

On the other medical fronts, the years-old wart on my thumb is now gone, along with two tiny ones on another finger. I’ve also been weaned off antidepressants – three weeks and counting! What else? My weight is back above 230 pounds and the vasectomy has held.

Life with AT remains excellent. Our similarities continue to astonish, while our differences keep things real. There’s a shit-storm of sorts gathering steam around her ex, but not much I can do other than what feels right – provide an empathetic ear, offer warm hugs and share rational opinions when asked (which ain’t easy since, like most strife, the situation is complex and multi-faceted). Thankfully my approach appears to be acceptable, so I keep listening, observing and contemplating. BTW – I seem to be getting better at offering words of comfort, though could still have more work to do there. As my favourite Christmas song goes, “If I cannot bring you comfort, then at least I bring you hope.”

Other than a couple of blog comments, which were summarily deleted, I’ve been successful at keeping my life E-free. Not a difficult accomplishment as all I really need to do is not visit her blog, something I’m not interested in doing anyway. I do need to put an end to the morbid curiosity that keeps me going back to CCAP to see if her son’s been arrested yet. That’s a pointless endeavor which serves no purpose. I also still catch myself growing angry when thinking about the past, but have been successful at steering those thoughts away from the emotional, closer to something more rational. It’s a process.

I finally repaired my violin (loose soul post) so have been practicing my violin on-and-off (more off than on lately). I’m getting good at tuning and getting my fingers when and where they need to be, at least for an F# cleft. I even recorded a little ditty for the bro to keep him off my back. I’m still not confident in my abilities to start using the bow yet. Bowing is a challenge by itself, not to mention it amplifies whatever talent the player may or may not have, so I’m doing my ear drums a favour and holding off on that step for now.

With some big help and encouragement from AT, got the two upstairs bedrooms and the downstairs office cleaned and organized. It’s clear the floors will need replacement before I sell the house, but at least I can now use those rooms for something other than reminders of my downfall. We also managed to clear the garage of the multi-year pile of aluminum can bags, bringing in over $85. At roughly $20 a year, I’ve decided it’s not worth my time, so aluminum now goes into the city recycling bin. Oh yeah, we also took advantage of a “free CRT recycling” special going on, ridding my garage of just over a dozen old computer monitors.

I renewed my learner’s permit, but have yet to begin practicing.

I still have my eye on a new career path. I would prefer to leave well enough alone, but I can almost taste the frustration and disillusionment with my current job. I’m trying to focus that energy toward other things that may (though likely not) help streamline some processes. Still, browse WiscJobs for openings, with two potential interviews on the way.

Just over 2800 songs in my iTunes library left to rate.

My boisterous attitude of the new year has tempered somewhat. I didn’t realize until it was pointed out by AT, I’ve been fairly quiet lately. Upon further reflection, it would appear I’m falling behind on my “don’t live in my head” goal for the year, spending a whole lotta time in there analyzing all kinds of things and trying to keep my thoughts in check. I really should get these things written, so I’ve set up a private blog and plan to document the crazier shit that goes through my head. It was an idea I attempted before which really never took off. Let’s hope second time around is a charm.

Fishie has been on my mind lately. I sure do miss her, but reviewing the memories of those times has helped keep my perspective when going over recent events. I can smell a blog post brewing there, but it’s not quite ready yet. The last time I tried to write it, it was an abysmal failure that simply left me sobbing with nothing coherent to say.

I’m still dirt broke, but nobody’s attempted to sue me yet, so I’m gonna call it “good” for now.

As I approach my 42nd birthday, I’m reminded of an incident at work a couple years back.

I was attending a meeting at work where I didn’t have much to report, so my attention, as it so often is want to do, started wandering.  I could see the other half of our meeting attendees on the television which was connected to a secret room at some unknown location.

OK, so they were really in another meeting room out at the datacenter. I told you my mind wanders.

While marveling at the wonders of the technological wonders that brought us this video conference capability, something shiny caught my eye.  Best I could tell it was coming from the little window in the corner of the screen.  This is the window which was a peek into our own video conference camera.

I immediately switched to “Sherlock Holmes” mode.  I MUST determine the source of this mystery shine!

Was it the table?  Someone’s smartphone?  A weird artifact introduced by network congestion?

As I leaned in closer, there it was again!  It seemed to be coming from where I was sitting.  Well, it wasn’t the table and it wasn’t my smartphone (which was in my pocket at the time).  Before I could get a good look, it was gone again!

Until I leaned forward just a tad, when it became abundantly clear where the shine was coming from – the top of my head.

And that’s how I learned I was losing hair on the top of my head.

FYI: I’m cool with that as my hairline is a “Widow’s Peak” – the coolest receding hairline ever!