five years gone

I suffer from congenital depression so I'm used to being dissapointed. But I'm not dissapointed in the house I bought with my wife. I'm thrilled by it, frankly. When I step outside myself, a little, and look at what we have, what we sought and found and bought, I'm thrilled. I love my house. Not to say it doesn't cause me fear and consternation and doubt and tremendous labor, from time to time. If you learn one thing from reading this (my God, are you actually READING this?!) learn that being thrilled is not at all incompatible with fear, or consternation, or doubt, or tremendous labor. Quite the opposite. Hand in hand, my friend. Hand in hand.

And it makes life easier because it's always good to come home.

Don't get the wrong impression. There's nothing wrong with my job. Like most people I have a thing I do eight or so hours a day and it makes many things possible, this house I live in, where I ticky tack type out the curious annals of the Home Page of the Kingdom Come Institute, possible. It's not quite how I envisioned my work to be, if indeed the definition of my work is what I spend eight plus hours a day, Monday through Friday. It often bores, irritates, and frightens me. Such is life. I appreciate what it makes possible. I appreciate the fact that the people who share this labor with me are decent people. I appreciate that what I do seems worthwhile, at the very least when compared to buying another piece of property for some corrupt CEO. Perhaps significantly more than that. Nevertheless, it doesn't seem quite right, quite sufficient, quite ME. So, in short, it's good to be home.

I smoke another cigarette, quite out of habit. It does not satisfy me. Take care of the cat. For my day's labor the cat gets the position I covet, to stay home all day. He mostly spends it sleeping, I surmise. I'm a little bored, a little lazy, a little at a loose end. I manage. I don't feel like accomplishing anything. At this point, the Kingdom Come Institute, AKA my First Novel (which needs must be thrown away, ala Hemingway), AKA pentagon/files, AKA kingdome come institute dot come, has been languishing for months. Literally, months and months. I'm not thinking about it at this point. I'm thinking about distraction. I'm thinking about turning my mind to some undemanding task.

klik if you demand tedious explanations of every little thing.