I haven't written in here lately and my last post kinda indicates why.

One day about a week ago, I spent a few hours drafting and editing a post, complete with photos, only to have it disappear. Later, I spent more hours trying to recreate it only to have it disappear again. I drafted the entry a third time into a separate Word document but haven't transferred it because, you see, by that time it was a copy of a copy and the impact from the original had passed. It was like those schoolkid games where you stand in a line and pass a whispered phrase from ear to ear and then laugh at how it changed from the start to the end. The same words or phrases fresh the first time had turned into something awkwardly lackluster.

Not that the writing was anything great but it captured a mood and the mood has now passed. I'll summarize and say the lost entry was in reaction to two things last week: 1) A heavy bill I owe the IRS that knocked me out financially and put me back many months, and 2) my father's sudden collapse and hospitalization.

Things are not so glum today. As with life, you do the best you can with what happens. The IRS bill has been paid and my father laughs with me over the telephone; the checkbook is balanced, and the hospital visit has been analyzed and filed away with Doctors' prescriptions.

A different entry follows, capturing a mood for this week.

---

In the Morning
She could be described as 'pretty'. She has light blue eyes and long blonde hair and the lavendar sweater she wears brings the color of both out perfectly. He sits across from her and they are talking energetically.

"From your background, it looks like you have a lot -- a lot! -- of options. How do you feel about staying in Dayton?"
"I won't be heartbroken if I leave."
She makes a face, scrunching up her nose, "That's good, it opens your possibilities. And I know what you mean. I live in Cincy."
"How attainable are the goals?"
She consults a paper pulled from a tackboard, "The head of the department believes everyone in the unit ought to make [a figure named that was higher than what he had expected]... and most meet expectations. A few do not, and they leave; a few make 200% goal. With your background, you should be a contender."
"What's the next step?"
"Let me make a few phone calls and see what I can arrange for you."

He leaves, almost giddy.

In the Evening
He sits in a bar, noisy, where almost everyone is smoking. Earlier in the afternoon at work, rumors began flying of another reorganization but this time he doesn't react. He has gotten used to these rumors. Two of his friends are e-mailing that another friend -- a coworker who quit over a year ago -- is playing in his new band tonight. He gets up, logs off and leaves the clammy office atmosphere. He meets his friends, already one pitcher of beer ahead, at the bar in a round of raucous greetings. His friend with the band is handling a new instrument.

"I've always known how to play it, I just didn't perform with it before now."

They sit getting buzzed on cheap beer, rambling on with people, some familiar folk and some new. They meet the new band members that now includes a drummer and a lead singer who sounds a lot like Johnny Cash. They play mostly covers. "Play some of your own stuff!" he shouts at his friend but his friend can't hear him.

In the Night
"I love to give massages," he had said, but the massage is anemic and meaningless. Any desire he might have had turns to nausea and the touch of skin becomes disgusting. He pushes for it to be over and he is nearly fully dressed by the time the other returns from momentarily retrieving a towel.

"Sorry to come and go, ha ha ha..." he says without laughing, "...but I have an early day tomorrow."
"That's cool. What do you usually work, 9 to 5?"
"No. More like 8 to 8."
"Oh. Well. That was fun and I'd really like to see you again. Let me give you my number."

At home, he empties his pocket into the wastebasket.