Musings of an Old Man

Whatever this used to be about, it is now about my dying. I'll keep it up as long as I can and as much as I want to.

Name:
Location: Columbus, Ohio, United States

I'm a 69 years old white, male, 6'1", 290 lbs., partially balding in the back. I was married for ten years and fathered two children, a daughter and a son. My current marriage (2nd) will celebrate its 39th anniversary November 4. The date will be in the news because it was the same day as the Iranian hostages were taken at the US Embassy in Tehran. (Obviously, I had a better day than they did.) I'm a Vietnam Veteran ('71-'72). I have worked as a Computer Programmer, Project Manager, Graduate Teaching Associate, Technical Writer, and Web Developer. I own, with my wife, a house and a dog.

Thursday, December 28, 2006

I'm Back...Sort of...Maybe

So, where the heck have I been for the past several months?

Nowhere really. That's the problem with depression, at least mine. I don't go anywhere or do anything or enjoy anything. As far as writing is concerned, I haven't had the energy--I haven't cared enough--to write anything. My life feels like a total mess right now, and I'm not even writing now because I care. I'm simply waiting for an online poker tournament to start.

That's how I've been passing my time: playing online poker. I'm down several hundred dollars from a combination of bad play and bad luck. I guess it's all bad play. Even when you get beat on the river by a lucky player who doesn't know what he's doing, you can trace it back to your own mistakes.

I've really learned a lot about poker in the past four months. I've learned even more about myself. Particularly, I've learned that I lack patience. I'm getting better at it, but I'm nowhere good enough at being patient.

But more than anything else, I'm enveloped in a deep, abiding sadness: what the folks a hundred years ago called melancholy. I do what I have to do, but I have no initiative to do more. I don't care whether I life or die, but I guess I do more to live than I do to die.

Where does this melancholy come from? I wish I could isolate a cause and deal with that cause. So many things have happened, and yet nothing is changed. I'm unemployed again. The contract I was on when last I wrote mercifully ended at the end of September. I say mercifully because they had long since run out of work for me to do. I got another contract in November at another place, but that lasted all of three weeks, and I got that work done early, too. Only these people were smart enough to cut their losses.

I guess it's time to face the facts that no one really wants the skills I have. Problem is I don't feel like acquiring new skills at the moment. I don't feel like doing much of anything.

In face, I've tired of this. Perhaps I'll write more later, but my tournament is about to start. Maybe I can get lucky.