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Some Days, I Don’t Have My Shit Together

A lot of people read this blog because I always try to put a silver lining on tough stuff. But some days I fail to live up to the image. Yesterday was one of those days, when I let a 7-year-old get the better of me.

Mood music:

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mX8n5IiSB-8&fs=1&hl=en_US&rel=0]

You see, Duncan is like me in that too much winter messes with his mental balance. He’ll get goofy, sad and every emotion in between at the drop of a hat. And he has a terrible time focusing.

We’re not sure what it’s about, but since it happens every year between December and March, it’s not a stretch to conclude there’s a winter-related cause.

Like father, like son.

Yesterday he was unfocused when he needed to be getting his homework done. He had a Cub Scouts meeting early and that put some added pressure on us. When he does his homework, you really need to stand over him. But I always struggle with this, because the OCD pushes me to do seven things at once, especially on a tight schedule.

So Duncan kept fooling around and doing his homework in an excruciatingly slow manner.

So my voice started to get a little louder every few minutes. And Duncan still stayed all over the place.

So then I really snapped at him.

I didn’t hit him. We don’t believe in hitting our kids. But I yelled. A lot.

I nixed his going to the Scouts meeting. That was appropriate, since he still had too much homework left and that comes before the fun stuff.

To some or most of you all this may read like a typical afternoon with children. Kids get a little out of control and the parent in the room has to open the can of whoop-ass.

But to me, it was a loss of control. Worse, I feel like I should be A LOT more patient with the boy, since he’s under the same spell I’m under.

Whatever it was, I didn’t feel good about it.

I am thankful for a few things, though:

–We’re getting Duncan evaluated by a medical professional to see if he has any disorders. Whatever the verdict, we’ll get some direction on how to help him along.

–Duncan is a sweet boy, and it’s impossible to stay mad at him for long. Especially when he gives you a big hug and apologizes for being difficult.

–Erin was a calming presence, reminding me that this is a particularly bad winter and everyone is on a short fuse because of it. 

–At the end of the day, I kissed my wife as she was leaving for a school board meeting, I tucked Duncan into bed and got some one-on-one time with Sean.

–There isn’t the thick, stinking cloud of rage hanging in the air. Love wins out over anger.

Because of all these things, this family is going to be just fine, thanks.

Even if I can’t always get my shit together.

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1984 (And Other Bad Years)

Editor’s note: An acquaintance  on Facebook mentioned how August is always a shitty month for her because of something that happened in that month a few years ago. I get that way about August, too, though time has healed wounds. For me, though, I’ve had to get over judging my life by certain years rather than certain months. This post, written in early 2011, is about that. 

I’m thinking of all the shitty things that have happened already in 2011. The 9-year-old girl getting killed along with several others at Congresswoman Gifford’s event. Death, unrest and oppression in Egypt. Nothing ever changes, does it?

Mood music:

[spotify:track:39kHMfF3dBMZMbOtoit1XF]

You always hear people talking about what a bad year they’ve had. Marriages falling apart. Loved ones dying. Jobs lost. Surely the new year will bring better things, we think. Then we find that the new year is pretty much the same as the old one.

It’s that losing game of high expectations. The more we get our hopes up, the more devastated we are when things don’t go according to plan.

My head has been in that place too many times to count.

The most glaring example was 1984. I was 13 and thought 1983 was a rough year. I remember being scared to death over world events like the bombing of Marine barracks in Lebanon and that movie “The Day After.” Three years into my parents’ divorce, there was still a lot of venom in the air. I was in my first year of junior high and hating every second of it. And in October, my brother had a horrific asthma attack that was nearly the end of him.

Less than three months later, another attack would be the end of him.

But 1984 dawned full of promise in my young eyes. A bad year was behind me, and better things were surely ahead.

The first few days were good ones. Then came Jan. 7, when my brother finally succumbed to his disease. The year didn’t get better from there. I remember getting sick a lot and missing a ton of school. I hated school so I should have been happy. But I knew I’d have to make up all that school work or end up repeating 7th grade. I had already been kept back in 1st grade, so I didn’t welcome that prospect.

I was sent to stay with my maternal grandparents in Florida for two weeks because my parents thought it would do me good. I was a miserable prick the entire time, and looking back on it I feel bad for my grandparents.

I was also deep in the grip of puberty and I was getting fatter by the day. Prednisone had swollen my face to the point where my head looked like the bottom half of Jabba the Hutt. Since I was just starting to care about girls, that didn’t bode well for me.

I would have other bad years: 1996, when my best friend killed himself and my fear and anxiety had the better of me; 1997, where the pain of what happened the year before was almost too much to take and I started eating and smoking heavily, and much of the time between 2001 and 2007, when I finally started coming unglued and realized I could do something about it or let everything go down in flames.

But a lot of wonderful things happened in those years.

I became friends with Sean Marley. I discovered heavy metal. I met Erin. We got married and had two precious children. I found God and started to fight back hard against my demons, which has taken me to a much better place today.

So when I look back on it, maybe all those years weren’t so terrible. Bad things happened, but I’ve learned that a good life is in how you deal with the bad as well as the good.

I’ve also learned to lower my expectations.

When your expectations are low, you can’t help but be pleasantly surprised by the direction life takes you in.

Sure, sometimes I still get my hopes up about things. But I’d like to think I’m more rooted in reality now.

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The New Slavery

I reigned in my addictions to food and alcohol. I brought the compulsive spending down to a dull roar. But the Android. The Laptop. Technology is a new addiction and I’m a slave.

In some respects, it’s strange that this is now my lot in life. For most of my adulthood, I was never an early adopter of the latest gadgetry. I didn’t own an iPod until late 2008, and it’s one of the older models. I was still using a Walkman and cassette tapes long after everyone started switching to digital music.

And yet here I am, skilled to the gills in the ways of smartphones, social networking and squeezing Internet connectivity out of the most remote places.

How did this happen? The easy answer is my job.

I write about technology — information security, specifically — and I have to use all this stuff to know how it works and, obviously, how to write about it.

But to blame it all on the hazards of work would be an over-simplification and a cop-out.

The bigger truth is that the same hole in my soul that led me to the other addictions has wrapped its thorny fingers around technology.

I don’t regret it the way I regretted the binge eating and the alcohol I used as a crutch while bringing the food under control. The fact of life is that a lot of good reading has shifted online. That’s now where I go to read various newspapers, get the weather report and watch the news.

We used to turn on the TV to get the weather and watch the news. A favorite Sunday pastime used to be reading a stack of newspapers on the living room couch. It was a way to be informed and unwind at the same time.

Now I can do all these things from my laptop AND my Android phone. But to the passers by, I have my face buried behind a screen while the world hums along around me.

There’s definitely a perception issue. But I won’t lie. A lot of my computer use is obsessive, compulsive and addictive.

Imagine how easy it is to spend hours on porn sites in the middle of the night. Fortunately, porn isn’t my thing. I know a priest who suffers from that addiction, and I pray for him all the time. But I know a thrice-convicted pedophile who, last time I checked, was visiting the library Internet centers and looking at all that stuff while friending teenage girls all over Facebook.

Ah, yes. Facebook. I don’t know about you, but I can never let a day go by without seeing who is doing what on there. The funny thing is that most of what happens on there is the stuff we always got along without. We’ve always been busy enough with our own family dramas. Now we have to read about everyone else’s. Wanna punish someone for annoying you? Nothing says “Fuck You” like unfriending someone on Facebook or unfollowing someone on Twitter.

The whole addiction-to-technology thing came up a couple Saturdays ago while I was in Washington D.C. having breakfast with my friends James Arlen and Martin Fisher. Martin was recording the conversation for a podcast but somewhere in the conversation we veered away from security and started lamenting our dependence on our devices. I was lamenting, anyway.

James said something I hadn’t thought of before: Our phones and social networking tools have become like another sense. So instead of five senses, we now have six.

Make a person do without their phone or laptop and it’s like you’ve cut off an arm or deprived them of smell, hearing, taste or vision.

What’s so perfect about that description is that addictions in general are like that. The addiction becomes another sense of sorts. Deprive the addict of what they need and horrible withdrawal pains result. I experienced it when I put down flour, sugar and alcohol. And I experience it when I have to shut the phone.

I guess the reason I’m not more ashamed about it is that practically every person I know has the same problem.

Misery adores company. There’s nothing more comforting than the knowledge that you’re not alone in your stupidity.

So what do I do with this newfound clarity?

I don’t know.

A good place to start is to minimize my laptop use when I’m home. But I have a feeling I’ll fall short.

Meet the new slavery. Not quite the same as the old slavery, but still a bitch.

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I Surrendered, But I’ll Never Quit

Last night I spent some time in the big book of Alcoholics Anonymous, diving intently into Step 3 of the 12 Steps of recovery. This is the part where you come face-to-face with the reality that without your Higher Power, there’s no hope.

Mood music:

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o7kx5Y42Hqo&fs=1&hl=en_US&rel=0]

To quote the step: “Made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of God as we understood Him.”

That’s a hard one for some addicts to swallow. Especially those who don’t believe in God. Also hard to accept is the idea that to recover we have to surrender our will over to the care of God. To the person who doesn’t understand what this is really about, all this means quitting the fight and diving into the comfortable world of a false god. To surrender is to roll over, let your spirit break and play dead.

In fact, nothing is further from the truth. At least not according to where I’ve been. Here’s my attempt to explain how all this comes into play in my life.

I’m not here to tell you what to believe. I can only explain my own thoughts, beliefs and actions. You, reader, can take it or leave it. We all have a road to follow, and your road can’t be exactly like mine.  Besides, having been down that road, I can tell you it’s better to go a different route if you can help it.

I’ve always been what some people would call stubborn.

In a lunch meeting with my mother in the summer of 2009, as I sat there slurping my soup and hearing her out in an attempt at reconciliation, my mother said I should have been a taurus instead of a virgo, because I’m “as stubborn as a bull.”

Whatever. I always thought astrology was a bunch of bullshit, anyway. And for my mother, surrendering means everyone does whatever she wants.

If you look up the word surrender in the Merriam-Webster dictionary, you see all the wrong descriptions:

1. a : to yield to the power, control, or possession of another upon compulsion or demand (surrendered the fort)

b : to give up completely or agree to forgo especially in favor of another

2. a: to give (oneself) up into the power of another especially as a prisoner

b:to give (oneself) over to something (as an influence)

2 b comes closest, but it’s not enough.
They are accurate descriptions, mind you. They just don’t do justice to what the word means in faith and recovery.
Here’s what I’ve learned about the word so far: It DOES NOT mean to quit life and stop trying to be better and stronger. In the context of Faith and the 12 Steps of Recovery, it DOES NOT mean  that you stop thinking for yourself.
It IS about admitting you can’t control everything and that you need the aid of a higher power. For many of us (for me, anyway), that higher power is God. It IS also about putting your trust in others.
As addicts in the grip of the demon, we trust nobody. We picture everyone with a knife in their hand, ready to stab us in the back. We see someone trying to tell us to clean up our act even though they could not possibly understand what it’s like to be truly out of control. We also watch over our shoulders because we expect someone to swoop in and steal our junk at any moment.
When we start to realize we have a problem, we labor unsuccessfully under the delusion that we can clean up on our own, without any help. In that regard, we refuse to surrender. We think our will is enough to get the job done, even though the art of will power has eluded us repeatedly. That’s the insanity of being a control freak.
I tried all kinds of things to clean up from a binge eating addiction. I thought I could tame the beast by chain smoking and drinking 14 cups of black coffee per morning. I thought I could do it by fasting twice a week. I even thought I could do it by drinking wine instead of eating.
Since I grew up with a chip on my shoulder, I looked at the word surrender with pure hatred. To surrender meant to do whatever my mother told me to do. Since her desire was for me to always play it safe and never take risks, it would have been the wrong thing to surrender to.
To surrender also meant to do what my father told me to do, which as a teenager simply didn’t fit into the joys of staying up all night getting high. He had a lot of good things to teach me, but no fucking way was I going to heed his advice. That would mean surrendering.
Surrendering to God seemed like the worst idea of all. That meant giving up my free will and following some unseen being over the cliff.
Motley Crue bassist and lyricist Nikki Sixx once described a similar reaction when he was asked to get on his knees and pray for help to break his heroin addiction. His reaction went something like this: “Fuck God!”
Let go and let God? Screw you.
As I got older and my addictive behavior was about to destroy all my hopes and dreams, I reached a point where I was willing to do anything to stop the pain.
Some would call that giving up, and I guess that’s what it was.
One time I was at a party listening to a group of moms talking about the pain of childbirth. Someone noted that in that moment of agony you lose all modesty. You just want that baby out of there. After a while, you stop caring if the doctor is male or female.
I wouldn’t know, but it is a pretty decent description of an addict who has maxed out their tolerance for pain.
Suddenly, the word surrender doesn’t sound so bad.
Professional life coach Rich Wyler nails it in his write up on the 12 Steps. He brilliantly boils it down to this:
–Effecting a spiritual awakening in which God does for us what we cannot do for ourselves, as we humbly submit our self-will and our heart to his will (Steps 2, 3, 5, 6, 7, and 11).
–Overcoming pride and resistance to change through rigorously honest self-examination (Steps 1, 4, 5, 6, 7 and 10)
–Making amends and repairing the harmful consequences of our self-destructive behaviors – especially the harm we’ve done to others (Steps 5, 8, 9, 10 and 12).

There it is, all laid bare. To surrender isn’t to give up and stop thinking for yourself. It’s exactly the opposite. It means doing a gut check, finally being honest and realizing you need help. When you surrender to God, you’re letting in the people who can help you.

It’s about honesty, trust and taking a leap of faith.

Here’s the truly whacked part: In doing so, I suddenly experienced more freedom than I ever had before.

I stopped being afraid to leave my room, getting on airplanes, taking on challenging work assignments that previously would have made me sick to my stomach, and I stopped being afraid to get up and talk in front of a room full of people. I also stopped being afraid to speak up when I disagreed about something, particularly in work.

In other words, I finally started becoming the man I wanted to be.

I still have a long, long way to go. But this beats the hell out of what life was like when I was clinging to that old, stupid will of mine.

Yeah, I surrendered. I gave up the idea that I could go it alone, without people who know better and without God.

Some might think that makes me weak.

I don’t care.

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Good Day

It’s a good day when the two boys and their 2-year-old niece pull me out of bed at 6:30 a.m. Some would say that’s early, but for me that’s sleeping in.

Mood music:

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m_VfhKfCpDI&fs=1&hl=en_US&rel=0]

It’s a good day when I can spend the morning doing house work and grocery shopping without feeling bitter or cheated about the lack of laziness.

It’s a good day when one of your best friends comes over with his kids for lunch and, while the kids play upstairs, we hang out in the living room watching music videos and dozing off.

It’s a good day when you get a little time to watch Star Wars with your kids.

It would be a better day if Erin didn’t have to work. But she’s working hard and I’m proud of everything she’s accomplished this last year.

And we’ll have a good night when the kids go to bed — even if we’re just laying on the couch watching TV. Of course, Erin watches TV. I fall asleep.

But it’s still time well spent.

Feeling grateful.

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My Current State of Mind

Written around 9 p.m. Friday…

One of my OCD ticks is a constant need for mental inventory. I’ll think back through the entire day recounting everything I’ve done. I’ll repeat the process about six times.

Mood music:

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3olG84TVtvA&fs=1&hl=en_US&rel=0]

I’ll review what I’ve eaten, how many articles or blog posts I’ve written, how many cups of coffee I’ve had, which house-hold chores I got done, etc. It’s a painful process that makes my head ache and leaves me exhausted. This is the thinking disease where the brain spins over the same song, the laser sticking in a scratch on the CD along the way.

That’s essentially what OCD is — worry out of control. It’s what makes me check my laptop bag three times before leaving the office or check the front door three times to make sure it’s locked.

I bring it up because I’ve noticed something lately: The tick is a lot less pronounced than it used to be.

I still review things over and over again, but there seems to be less pain attached. It’s a colder, more sober inventory.

The result of medication? Probably a little. Change of diet? I’m not sure. It’s been more than two years since I stopped binging and quit flour and sugar. It’s probably not that.

More confidence in myself? That may have a lot to do with it. I used to have no confidence in myself, and I think I endlessly reviewed things because of my insecurities.

Now I have plenty of confidence — maybe even too much.

Who knows?

All I know is that I’m sitting here in my living room, ready to pass out.

Not from a day spent worrying or a night spent rewinding. Not from an afternoon of binging and an evening of lying about it.

It’s just the kind of tired that comes from living a full day.

It’s strange.  But good.

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So You Don’t Like Your Job…

Wherein the author suggests people stop complaining about their jobs and be the change.

Tons of Facebook people complain about their jobs. It makes me feel a little guilty because I love my job. OK, it doesn’t, really. But I’ve been in that place before and learned the problem was more me than the job.

Mood music:

[spotify:track:7E8QnPXVk1Sw9Gi06ENZ0i]

There are days where I find it a bit unreal that I have the job I’m in now. I get up in the morning itching to go. I enjoy the company of my co-workers. Given where I’ve been, it’s a little bit strange.

I am fortunate to work for a company with a warm, family-like culture. But I’ve worked for companies like that before and I was miserable. One of my favorite bosses ever had the pleasure of working with me at a time where my demons were ripping me to shreds.

I’ve worked for companies that weren’t like that, too.

All I know is this: Some of my most miserable working days were the result of the ghosts in my head. At the time, I confused those ghosts with the people around me. To be fair to myself, some people were miserable to work for and with, but when you’re slowly having an emotional breakdown every personality tick you come across is exaggerated times 20.

Ever since learning to manage the OCD raging inside of me as well as the related addictions, the same personality ticks don’t hit me that way. Sometimes I’m amused. Most of the time I’m sympathetic or empathetic. How could I not identify?

Still, there are times when I see the whining people do and in a self-impressed haze I forget how I used to be.

One person doesn’t like a teaching gig. Someone else is unhappy with their IT job.

Sorry to hear about it.

I cringe when someone gripes about their job on Facebook, but only because I can’t help but picture their bosses seeing those comments and frothing at the mouth.

Some people even name their boss, or a bigger boss they don’t often see but hate all the same.

Sorry, my friends, but that’s a stupid thing to do. Seriously.

Of course, I’m the last one to tell you how you should behave. But I have learned a few things worth sharing:

–For some people — and this was the case for me when I worked at TechTarget/SearchSecurity –there’s the hope that all will be right with the world if you get out of a job you hate and into something else. I was so desperate to leave The Eagle-Tribune that I would have taken a gig as a trash truck driver if it were available. At one point I seriously considered applying for postal work. TechTarget by comparison was a far better job for me. But I was so messed up inside that I couldn’t enjoy it for the first two years.

–When the change happened inside of me, I think my overall approach to work changed. Had I gone through it while still at The Eagle-Tribune, I might still be working there. I probably would have been happier there simply as the result of getting a grip on my demons. That said, I’m glad things unfolded as they did.

Sometimes it’s not the job that’s the problem. Sometimes it’s just the employee’s state of mind.

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Stuff My Kids (and Niece) Say, Part 4

Parenthood is painful at times, especially when one or both parents has had a mental illness that makes the smallest things seem like calamities.

Addictive behavior isn’t good for parenting because it makes you selfish. A selfish parent is a disaster.

Mood music:

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9RZXaoaK8NI&fs=1&hl=en_US&rel=0]

I’m constantly worried about the kids inheriting my genetic disposition toward mental disorder. But Duncan helps me out, as does Sean, and, increasingly, their cousin Madison. In between the various meltdowns, the three children let loose with a lot of witty words that lifts my spirits.

You can read part 1 of the series here, part 2 here and part 3 here.

I think you’ll walk away feeling that life isn’t so tough when you’ve seen it from a child’s perspective.

And now for Part 4…

“The sequel to “Throw Mama From The Train” is being made at Brenner Manor. It’s called “Throw Daddy Under the Bus.” Me, after the kids gleefully told their mom that I showed them the South Park J-Lo Taco songs.

“Tormenting your kids, pt. 54: Release a loud cackle as your children get out of your car and into the school they hoped would close today.” Me, an hour before finding out that the kids were being sent home after only 90 minutes of school.

“You are the picture of evil.” Sean, after I made them do homework on their snow day.

Duncan: “Daaaaad… Sean kicked me.” Sean: “What? We’re playing ninja. Ninjas kick a lot.”

Duncan: “Daaaad, Sean spat on me.” Sean: “I was doing sound effects. They produce spit. You should have had the sense to get out of the way.”

Duncan took a swing at Sean after Sean told him: “You’d be the perfect child if God gave you everything but a mouth.”

Duncan just told me that I’m a “pain in his bum-bum.” He’s not amused that I’m amused by that statement.

“Hanging out with you is challenging.” Duncan, after I wrestled him to the floor in a good-natured game of rough housing.

Early one Saturday morning: Is it bad that I’m letting Sean use scissors in the dark? He says he “can see perfectly fine.” In fact, he says, “I cut better in the dark.”

Sean, pretending to be a clone trooper from Star Wars: “I hate this job. I don’t get MLK Day off. Crap, I didn’t even get Christmas off!”

Duncan, twirling his toy lightsaber: “You can call me Jedi Bob.” Sean: “I’d rather call you an idiot.”

Me: “Come on, kids, come help me fold laundry.” Sean: “Dad, can’t you see I’m in the middle of a thought outburst?”

Erin: I’m always surprised at my children’s ability to read a long-winded, gross joke once and repeat it verbatim.” Me: “I’m less surprised. They’re wearing my genes.”

My 2 yr old niece eats her “cakies” when Duncan walks in, says they’re “pancakes” and walks away. The niece asks: “What’s wrong with him?”

The niece: “I ate all my blueberries. I ate all my blueberries. I ate all my blueberries. I ate all my blueberries. I ate all my…”

“Wow, the pilots really eat their words in this movie.” Sean, after the x-wing pilot gets blown up after bragging about locking on target.

Me to Sean: “I have a thought.” Sean: “There’s a 50-50 chance I’m gonna protest it.”

Sean: “Duncan, how many kids do you plan to have?” Duncan: “20: 10 girls, 10 boys.” Sean: “I can’t watch all those kids. Scale it back.”

Duncan, regarding his brother: “Sean is a moron, loved by all for his moron-ness.”

Me: “Stop throwing snowballs at the neighbor’s dog, Sean.” Sean: “What the heck for?”

The mournful groan that just came from Sean almost makes the niece’s request for “Calliou” worth it. Almost.

Sean regarding my last comment: “Caillou must die-you.” 

Duncan on Santa: “If you don’t believe you don’t receive.”

Sean’s 9-year-old reaction to news that Uncle Brian is getting married: “Oh yeah? Whatever.”

Duncanism of the day: If the inside of my head was empty, I’d be light-headed.

Sean’s reaction to the Duncanism of the day: “Duncan, you infuriate me.”

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Oddly Enough, This Day Will Not Suck

I’m snowed in again and both kids are home. By 6:20 a.m. they were already fighting over the family laptop. I’m dead tired. But despite it all, I’m thinking this day will NOT suck. Here’s why.

–The first reason is that I started the day by listening to one of my favorite Boston bands, The Neighborhoods, covering one of my favorite Cheap Trick songs:

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V3QHFAPcYTM&fs=1&hl=en_US&rel=0]

–The second reason is that I got a particularly damn good cup of caffeine by my side. Since there have been storms where the power went out before I got my first cup of coffee, I consider this a blessing of massive proportions.

–The third reason is that I just found an amusing article about a woman busted in the airport security line for trying to smuggle 44 iPhones in her stockings. I have a bit to say about that in my security blog.

–I can spend the work day in my bathrobe and tattered gym pants if I want to. I probably won’t, because at some point I’ll want to change before going out to shovel the driveway. But I could if I wanted to.

–Having Sean and Duncan in close proximity as I try to work won’t be easy. But at some point we’ll break to watch some Star Wars. And for an hour or two, I can be a kid again.

–It’s always nice to have a work-at-home day with my wife, though it’s always nicer when the kids are in school. But it’s still quality time, so I’ll take it.

–I have my sunshine in a box on the table nearby. That makes the darkness of winter a little less glaring to my imbalanced mind. 

–The close proximity to the kids all day makes it likely that I’ll be writing a “Stuff My Kids Say Part 4” later on.

Don’t let the snow get you down, people. Things can always be much, much worse.

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Snow in The Wound

There’s something about living through one or two big snowstorms a week that puts your anti-depressant medication to the test. Let’s see how I’m doing on this one…
Mood music:

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=foSkPjvuRv0&fs=1&hl=en_US&rel=0]
Like many of my fellow New Englanders, I’m getting pretty tired of all this winter weather. There’s nowhere to put the stuff anymore, and there’s the constant worry of one of these storms fucking up my travel plans.
I got a wave of depression rolling through me right now. Not the sad, everything sucks kind of depression, but the grumpy variety that makes me more of a curmudgeon than usual. On days like this I drop a lot of F-bombs with smug self-righteous satisfaction.
That’s OK. No one gets hurt, and I wait until the kids are in another room to let the profanity loose.
I’m working from home today because we’re supposed to get 8 inches. I’m working from home tomorrow because we’re expecting another 6-12 inches. Some folks would be excited about working from home all the time, but the truth is that I go bat-shit crazy if I’m separated from my Framingham office for too long. I need face-to-face interaction with my colleagues to help fuel my creativity. I get restless, and that’s not good.
At least I can move freely about the state when it’s raining. And as you know by now, too much rain throws me into a depression.
Go back a bit further and snowstorms used to send me into a panic. That doesn’t happen anymore. Now I just get frustrated and restless.
And that’s where my head is at now. Call it a case of cabin fever, and the cabin’s on fire.
But I’ll get over it. I always do. 
There is a plus side: The days are getting longer.
Seeing that it’s not pitch black at 5 p.m. is good for my morale.