So, I come in to work yesterday and get harangued by one of the external auditors involved in year-end close. She goes on vacation for two weeks, doesn’t give me any data requests or questions to follow-up on even though I cancelled my holiday vacation plans specifically to be available to respond to requests.

Now, I am expected to provide responses to questions in one or two days. Fortunately, I was pretty screwed up with a very deep depressive episode so I kind of just responded to her in telegraphic speech, leaving her with a rather perplexed impression of my true feelings at the time (Hi! Come join me in my suicidal ideations!).Hmmm, perplexing is not a bad description of how I leave most people.

I recall that I once had an annual evaluation at a job a few years ago. My boss went over my accomplishments and basically had all good things to say about my work and work ethic; however, when it came to the subject of my personality, he gave me a long stare and said, “I don’t know, Eric. It is like there is just something missing but I can’t put my finger on it.” I like that comment. At the time, I should have told him that I wholeheartedly agree with his assessment. YES! Damn straight! Indeed, there is something missing!

Accounting attracts a rather strange group of people, myself included. On the one hand, you have fairly normal folk who are just kind of cynical and wonder why they didn’t study something else in college. Believe me, at any college event they send me for purposes of recruitment and to extol the virtues of accounting, my single comment to every student I meet is that “there is still time to go become a fine art major!” The poor fools never listen.

Anyway, the rest of the accounting population is divided into the workaholics who really love this stuff as if it meant something and then there are those individuals with Asperger’s Syndrome wandering about. They just see it as a really safe, orderly world. Interactions with those folks are humorless and somewhat unnerving, to say the least. But hell, what do I know. I just sort of drifted here from, of all things, Psychology and now I just sort of stick with Accounting for pecuniary reasons.

Depression Fun...

Another depressive episode appears to be here. This one moved in rather slowly, like clouds forming on the horizon and moving in to create a storm. It is unlike the usual “light switch” mood changes I often feel. I do not know which is worse. Is it better to be surprised or is it better to feel a sense of impending doom followed by melancholy? Either way, it brings the usual emotions.

There is the anger, self-directed, in which I blame myself for having a malfunctioning brain and why couldn’t I have the good sense to be a normal person. Then there is the sad resignation, the surrender to the darkness because there is no salvation or hope to save me. Last, there is the pain.

No one thinks that depression really “hurts”. Everyone assumes that psychological manifestations cannot possibly elicit the same pain that is experienced by the physical body. They are wrong. It hurts more than anyone can ever imagine and the bouts of crying are as much an expression of sadness as they are of pain.While my shell of a body continues to shuffle along with work and other day-to-day duties, inside I feel mixed emotions. Part of me wishes it would all just end while another part of me wishes for some degree of happiness and hope. In the end, I get neither. It will pass. Soon, I will be back to being my numb old self and I will put back on my mask.

Feeling sort of alone tonight. I mean, I am always alone but tonight I just feel it a little bit more. Is it me or is it just the brain chemistry. If I was inhibiting my serotonin reuptake a little more, would I feel differently at this moment and which is the real perception?

See, you really don't need drugs to screw yourself up. Natural selection's gift of a forebrain gives us more than enough amunition to fuck ourselves up without having to resort to additional chemicals.

Sometimes it is hard to know what makes me not feel lonely. Being around people usually makes me feel more alone, as if there is this big spotlight shining down on me, distinguishing me from everyone else as the misfit. Sometimes one person can either make me feel more alone or less alone, it depends on that strange connection, bond, trust. There are those rare instances when I have blurted out something very personal to another and that person has understood or connected with the remark. At those moments, it is so special and I always get kind of teary eyed. It is as if, having trudged through the desert, I have suddenly happened upon a small oasis that sustains for just a little longer on my journey.

I was at the end of the Manhattan Beach pier this afternoon staring out at the horizon line, the afternoon sun reflected in the rippling waves while sailboats were drifting to and fro, picture poetry. I stood there, silent, lost in the moment, when a man and woman walked up near where I stood. The woman began rambling loudly about something or another of little consequence. I think it involved the sight of a headless seal along the shore. Regardless, her loud monologue seemed to run so counter to the mood of the moment, an interruption to the peace. I thought about the importance of silence, the beauty of silence, the need for silence.

Silence is a comma for the soul. It provides that brief breath, that respite before moving from one topic or thought to another.

So, I went to see Lord of the Rings. Of course, I loved it. I pretty much figured I would since I loved the two previous films. It was so beautifully photographed and lighted. It did such a great job of brining a fantasy world to life which is a daunting task.It has only been in the last decade that I have got more into reading fantasy. I grew up reading a lot of science fiction but had always steered clear of pure fantasy.

When I took my first job as an auditor, I began to find myself sitting in airports and on planes feeling tense, edgy and closed-in. So, one day, I happened to get a fantasy book and found that it really grabbed my attention and drew me in so that everything around me faded away. Soon, I was engrossed in quests and sword fights and strange new cultures and geographies. I kind of got hooked from that point on. It also amazed me how these stories follow what folks like Jung talked about regarding archetypal characters and stories. There is always a quest, young naïve I have always believed in the idea that human beings have similar hard wiring that influences our stories, legends and beliefs across all cultures. It is the kind of stuff discussed by Joseph Campbell and in books like “The Golden Bough”.

It is kind of funny though how my sister makes fun of me with those books. She will see me reading a fantasy book and say, sarcastically, “So what are they after now, a magic crystal or some enchanted sword?” My response: “Er, um, they have to find a secret map first. Evil is upon the land and the dark forces are entering the once peaceful lands….” At this point, my sister usually walks away with her eyes raised.

-I just returned from the gym. While I was stair climbing, some woman climbed on to the machine next to mine and proceeded to have a heated argument with her boyfriend/husband using one of those annoying cell phone-walkie-talkie thingamajigs.

It was incredibly annoying. She had this loud, East Coast voice and it didn’t help that she was shouting mere inches from my ear. The argument, as I understood it, centered on whether her significant other had sent a payment to Nextel using next-day delivery versus priority mail. It seems the difference in arrival may spell possible cancellation of phone service (“Hooray!!!” was all I could think). Why a twenty minute argument was necessary to discuss that issue is beyond me. The yutz either did it or he didn’t do it. Accept it and move on!

I can’t stand those devices. I know that own one primarily for emergencies but the people who talk on these things non-stop, all day, deserve their inevitable brain tumors.

-I keep getting spam mail for Xanax. Are they targeting me specifically? Shit, I really thought the foil hat would keep them out of my mind.

-I’m feeling spacey today. Post-rain weather always sort of makes me a little spacey. Then again, most things make me a bit spacey.

-I have noticed that my right index finger is almost back to normal. Over four months ago, my finger came in contact with the fan belt in my car and the entire nail was ripped out. It was painful and left my finger looking awful scary. There were concerns that the nail would never grow back. My brother, always the sympathetic sort, left a message on my answering machine a couple days after the accident. In a high pitched voice he said, “Eric, this is your nail. Where are you?!” Anyway, eventually, the nail began to grow back and now my finger is almost 100%. It is kind of amazing how cells reproduce and the body regenerates. It is a nice dividend in return for all those years of natural selection.

-Anyway, I should go be productive. My brother and sister-in-law gave me an antique clock for Christmas. It was made during the Cultural Revolution in China. The face has Chairman Mao on it along with a group of marching followers. The minute hand is in the form of a jet aircraft and, as it moves around, one of the follower’s arms swings back and forth, the Red Book held prominently in his hand. So, hearing the ticking makes me feel that I should get off of my bourgeois ass and go dig a ditch or something.

A must make a small confession: I realize that I am rather cynical, sarcastic and seem like a real utilitarian but deep down I often wish there was such a thing as magic. In fact, when I have gone on hikes by myself and I happen to spot a “fairy ring”, I always go over and stand in the middle of it for a minute or so. I know it sounds strange but a tiny part of me just wishes it were real and I would disappear.

Christmas music likes:
Christmas Wrap - The Waitresses I like the Waitresses. They remind me of the 80s, stuff I was listening to back then and concerts I went to back during my undergraduate days.

Last Christmas - Wham I just like it because it is a little sad.

Frosty the Snowman & Winter Wonderland - The Cocteau Twins I like anything done by The Cocteau Twins.

Blue Christmas - Elvis It's a classic.

God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen - Belinda Carlisle I like Belinda Carlisle's voice. It's got a nice, unique sort of sound to it.

A little about my sister…

My brother, sister and I came from a somewhat dysfunctional family. It was not the sexual abuse-plates being thrown against the wall sort of dysfunctional. Instead, it was more insidious, involving a lot of depression and lack of social skills on the part of both of my parents. My brother and I eventually escaped the environment, although not without accumulating a number of mental scars.

My brother accomplished it by going off to graduate and med school out of state. I did it by going a little nuts, fighting my way out of that and then moving away from home to go to school (to study, of all things, Psychology, of course).

Unfortunately, my sister did not escape.My sister remained at home where my parents did nothing to motivate her to leave or improve herself. She did go to college and obtained her MBA. But she never did anything with those academic accomplishments. Instead, she became companion a companion to my mother, the two depressed souls living a strange symbiotic relationship at home. All throughout that time, my sister became more and more overweight and unhealthy.

Her employment consisted of high school education level positions such as working retail or doing clerical work. My father stood idle throughout all of this. My brother, who criticized the goings on was reviled for his negativity and sarcasm. When my mother died, my sister no longer had the will to change. She had given up. She remained at home helping my dad until he recently died.

Now, my sister just lives in my parent’s old house where she continues to go downhill physically and, as far as I’m concerned, psychologically as well. How often I have tried to help her, provide advice, research and give her information on things that might help but the walls of defensiveness and denial are too high and fortified by years spent indulging in self-destructive behavior. My brother and I are left in an odd position where we feel guilty and worried about my sister but the emotions are also mixed with anger and disappointment towards her as well as out parents who contributed to her current situation.

How much easier it would be if my sister were mentally or physically disabled and we could just chalk it up to an “act of God” but she is very intelligent and educated and has free choice.Anyway, it is hard to go out to her house and visit her. She is constantly tired, unable to do much and leaves the house a mess.

She gets upset if I try to bring up her problems and I grow tired trying to do anything for her. I can only do so much as I am also fighting with my own devils and it takes a great deal of my energy.

Some Thoughts On The First Anniversary Of My Father’s Death

I thought for a while prior to posting this particular entry. I thought of whether to do it and than I considered what I would even say. But, I decided it was fitting to say something in memorial to my Father at this one-year anniversary of his death. Being that I am something of an existentialist, I tend to see meaning and purpose to life in the impressions we are able to leave whether it is on the environment or in the minds of those we interacted with while alive. In essence, everything we do, good or bad, becomes a means of asserting our meaning, purpose and self in this world, leaving our mark, if you will.Since my Father is now gone, all that remains of him besides pictures and personal effects are memories and impressions that still survive in my mind. When I eventually pass away, the remainder of him will fade with me. Therefore, I feel compelled to ensure that my Father is not so quickly lost to the sands of time even though it is inevitable for us all.With that said, this is the text of the eulogy that I wrote and read at my Father’s funeral nearly one year ago:

Much of my father’s thoughts and feelings remain a mystery to me, for he was not given to excessive self-expression when it came to emotions. My memories come from simple acts he performed and a number of stories he recounted to me.As a child, I recall my Dad dutifully making breakfast for us early every morning prior to his leaving for work. I remember once awakening ill with an earache and my Dad laying his warm hand on my ear while I lay next to him, the pain melting away as I slowly fell to sleep.In more recent times, the two of us took a road trip together. We shared our appreciation of the scenery and grandeur of the country. My Dad was happy on that trip. Actually, the happiest times I recall were those in which we were traveling, whether on long walks, hikes or going for a drive. The places visited were not necessarily important and ranged from locations just around the corner to the middle of the desert. The journey itself meant more, the joking around along the way and the inevitable stories that my Dad would share. These are what made the trips memorable.I will miss hearing his life’s stories and the descriptions of the assorted cast of characters from his past. Through his stories, we experienced his day-to-day work, the 1930s Depression and World War II. We traveled across oceans on his words, going through the Suez Canal, visiting India and even wrecking a Jeep on the island of Guam. As recipients of these tales significant to my Father, we also enjoyed the opportunity to relive a world that is now quickly becoming no more than a piece of the historical record.

October 9, 1926 - December 22, 2002

Early this morning, while returning from the local Starbucks, I suddenly slammed the brakes on my car to avoid hitting a possum. That kind of woke me up. At first, I thought it was a cat but it most definitely would have been a very strange sort of cat. I hope the possum god appreciates my act of goodwill towards one of his own ilk.

Speaking of cats, The Cat in the Hat movie has dredged up thoughts of childhood. I remember as a child, The Cat in the Hat always kind of disturbed me. I was a quiet child who preferred being alone and had more imaginary friends than real friends. I was kind of autistic-lite. Anyway, I preferred things orderly, calm and harmonious. The Cat in the Hat was chaos, disorder, the second law of thermodynamics, Shiva the Destroyer. I always felt that there was something entirely sinister about him. I don’t think I could ever trust The Cat. Thing 1 and Thing 2 did not help matters. What in God’s name are they? They’re quasi-human but one wonders from where they originated. Did the Cat steal them away from somewhere? What is a “Thing”? It makes me shudder.

General Ramblings…a dream…stuff

For some reason, last night I had dreams pertaining to my past experiences living in the Midwest. A few years ago, I worked as an auditor for a federal agency. The position required 100% travel, which meant that I had to drive around in my car and live in various towns and cities throughout the country. I would pack everything into the back of my little car, arrive in a city, rent an apartment, rent some furniture and meet up with the rest of my team to go and perform an audit. The length of stay varied from a month or two to six or seven months. On one occasion, I lived in Cedar Rapids, Iowa for six months, during the winter, of course.There was a certain interesting beauty to the locale right before winter. The trees were turning Fall colors, the sky was always a deep blue filled with big fluffy white clouds. It did not take long to learn everything about the city. There is little to see. The museum was interesting. Cedar Rapids is the home of Grant Wood who painted American Gothic.

Actually, I grew to appreciate the American artists during my travels. Anyway, I got to see a lot of Grant Wood and several of his contemporaries. Otherwise, there was little left to do in town. I did note that there appeared to be only one homeless guy hanging out in the city park. It made me think of the character “Otis” in the old Andy Griffith show. I always had a devil of a time getting a sense of direction. I was so used to having the ocean to the west and mountains to the east. Out there, everything is absolutely flat in all four directions and it was hard to keep track of which was which.

I lived in this old historic landmark hotel called the Roosevelt. It was built back in the 1920’s and was just being converted from a retirement community when I arrived. The former elderly occupants were moving out little by little. Therefore, the place was kind of big and empty with several floors under construction. I got a large apartment on the top floor, overlooking downtown Cedar Rapids and the Cedar River. From my perch, I watched the heavy snowfalls blanket the city throughout the long winter. It was really cold. Most of the time, it was below zero with windchill factors of –50. If you went outside, you had to cover every inch of exposed skin. A trip to the store was like preparing to walk on the lunar surface. Soon, I just avoided going out.

There was a gym in the basement of the hotel allowing for physical exercise. Actually, the basement was pretty cool. It was originally built as an indoor swimming pool with an entire bar and deck area. If you could imagine it back in the 20s, it must have been pretty swank. The rest of the hotel was also pretty interesting. It always reminded me of “The Shining”. You could almost imagine the ghosts of old hotel guests wandering the halls. Another auditor I worked with at the time said that before winter was over, he would probably find me prowling the halls with an axe.The worst thing was the cabin fever.

In Cedar Rapids, most of the town’s buildings are interconnected by glass-enclosed walkways. I thought they were a bit like Habitrail tubes. Anyway, it was possible to almost never venture out of doors and still take care of most of your business. True, it allowed you to avoid the cold but it also served to make you feel like you were in some sort of prison on some inhospitable planet. Anyway, my dream pertained more to the period prior to winter. I just recall the blue sky, bright sun and fluffy clouds. It was kind of a surreal atmosphere and, with the flat landscape, it all had this strange “cinemascope” feeling. I just remember feeling lost, floating and a sense of waiting but not knowing for what I waited.

What a drag. My blog comments (the thing below this that says “Shout”) appear to have been erased as a result of some sort of maintenance performed last weekend. Anyway, everyone will just have to pay their two cents again (or would that be four cents).

So, I did receive a promotion at work and of course that means a little extra money and a lot of extra work. Hopefully, the New Year will bring with it a sort of homeostasis. I have placed a photo of Sigmund Freud in my cubicle to help me keep centered on the most important things: sex. No, just kidding (well, sort of). My ego will be dealing with great strife for a while and Sigmund will be there to help me shine light on what is hidden. Where once there was id, let there be ego.Anyway, results of my travels to the Nevada desert have been obtained and many images are quite good.

I’m excited about getting into the darkroom to make some enlargements. For now, I am scanning the negatives in hopes to include these on my eventual website.The holidays are pretty much here and that is always depressing. Thankfully, I do not live in a dark, dreary part of the country or someone would probably have found me hanging by my neck from a Christmas tree.Unfortunately, this year, I am unable to travel due to work and so I will miss out on watching Christmas Day sunrise from Zabriskie Point in Death Valley. Regardless of religious affiliation or inclination, that is an experience that truly says “Merry Christmas and God bless us, everyone!”

A minor disaster was averted today.

I am single, very single. As such, I have had no real dinner guests in my home. Exemplifying my true loner status is the fact that I own only one dinner plate. Now, to be fair, the plate was once part of a set that has followed me for many years and through many an apartment. Today, all that remains of my one time set are a couple of cups and saucers, two soup bowls and, of course, The Plate. It is actually a decent plate as it is microwavable and oven resistant. Still, The Plate, like Superman, still has its weaknesses.

Today, I was going to place my precious plate into the cupboard in my right hand while also putting my pyrex measuring cup on another shelf with my left. As a result of my own clumsiness, the measuring cup fell and struck the plate. A horrible sound could be heard at the moment of impact and I reluctantly looked down to survey the expected heavy damage. Much to my astonishment, the plate remained whole with the exception of a minor chip on the edge. I breathed a deep sigh of relief.

I have said that, should you ever see me purchasing a new set of dishes, a wedding is imminent.

A few things:

1. While traipsing through the desert, I happened upon a piece of paper that was almost torn in half. Here is what was written (misspellings and grammatical errors have been preserved):

"What I would like to happen is…Verbal/Emotional (physical past)also to see my siblingsHit Herable to see my grandparentsalready agreed w/them toI don’t mind changing my life for the better but I do not wan’t to change everything from my past like friends.I wan’t to have a socal life w/out him cutting me off of my friends other than school.I wan’t him to understand I am human I have feelings"

And there it was, rolling through the desert. It is kind of symbolic. All of our feelings and thoughts are ultimately lost to the sands of time, a cry in the wilderness.

2. I went out with my brother and his wife last night for my belated birthday dinner. The two were trying to give me advice on purchasing a home. Essentially, they have all of these grand plans for me but I really can’t afford any of their suggestions. I mean, it is depressing because I actually make a relatively high salary but, being single, I can’t afford anything on my own. The real estate prices are ridiculous. They can’t seem to understand that all I want is a little quiet home so I don’t have to put up with apartment life anymore.

So, as the two of them went on and on as we sat in the restaurant, I began to stare out the window, spacing out and trying to recapture some of the remaining emotions and impressions from my recent trip to the desert. I felt very alone and sad. I hate when I return from a place like the desert and suddenly have to deal once again with the “real world” stuff like work, investments, people, traffic, etc. After dinner, we went to various stores like Cost Plus and Bed Bath & Beyond. The stores were filled with pointless consumer goods made by Chinese peasants so that Americans can give something to a relative or co-worker that will ultimately disappear into a closet or junk drawer. Celebrate the savior’s birth with a George Foreman grill.The only thing I did like were some of the toys. At Cost Plus they had stuff like Jacks, Pick-up Sticks and those plastic army men with a parachute that you throw up in the air and watch float down. That was kind of cool since it reminded me of the stuff I had when I was a kid.

3. My sister called me to see how my trip to the desert went. While we were talking, she happened to bring up Christmas shopping and decorations. At one point, she mentioned a couple of the old decorations I had made back in elementary school (are kids still allowed to make decorations in school or is that prevented because it’s religious?). I suddenly realized that those little decorations are packed up in boxes and will probably never be taken out again since we don’t decorate trees and so forth anymore. Someday, I will be gone and those decorations will be thrown out or someone will find them and never know that the little blue bird with silver sparkles was made in first grade or that the toilet paper roll Santa Claus was made in fifth grade. It’s just kind of sad.

Desert Pupfish, Area 51 and A Lot Of Film

For the past few days, I have been taking photographs of a wildlife refuge located just beyond the California and Nevada border in the Amargosa Valley.

I enjoyed a personalized tour of some of the site’s highlights by the Refuge Manager and another volunteer who has worked there for nearly five years. The refuge contains a great many species that are found nowhere else in the world, existing in the harsh desert only as a result of ancient underground aquifers.

The celebrity species of the refuge is the pupfish.The landscape is desert but not altogether sparse. There is a heavy amount of vegetation in the form of salt grass, mesquite, ash and salt cedar. There are large reservoirs with migratory foul. I was even told that the site is a stopover for bald eagles in the spring.

Hiking through this land was a tranquil experience. There were rarely any other people around and I was able to slowly take in subtle nuances of the landscape. At sunset, fields of grasses appeared like a soft velvet, reflecting back blazing gold. The reservoir waters were still and often looked a smooth mirror, reflecting back the surrounding landscape and the sky. I stayed at a very rundown motel off of the highway, its only saving grace being that it was only four miles from the refuge entrance.

The room, sporting a kitchen of old appliances and a separate bedroom was poorly lit and furnished with odd pieces of thrift store furniture. Curtains were beginning to fall down as was one of the closet doors. It was a perfect place for filming an Indie film. I could almost imagine a murderer on the run and his hip girlfriend breaking into my room, kidnapping me and taking me on a bizarre road trip through the lonely highways of Nevada. Entertainment in the room was provided by an old color TV with a quaint manual channel knob. The only channels that worked were TLC, Discovery and some Catholic religion channel. What caught my attention more than anything was this one commercial that was repeated from time to time. It was a commercial for raising Alpacas. It showed people walking Alpacas around on a leash and cuddling with them. It was kind of surreal. But, if anyone really sees this as their calling in life, I recommend that they go to alpacainfo.com for all the dope on this opportunity.

The nearest gas station to my motel was about 9 miles up the highway at the intersection of 373 and 95. The Shell Station, advertising itself as the last stop before Area 51, sports an adjacent bordello. There was also a small market (all of a man’s needs in one place!). When I stepped inside the market, I was surprised at how large the floorspace. I was doubly surprised because there was practically nothing on any of the shelves. The few items of merchandise available were dispersed along the shelves in such a way as to suggest art works in a museum. In the many glass encased refrigerated displays lining the walls, food had been replaced by a collection of baseball caps and other kitsch. I presume the refrigeration system was not on.

Given the Area 51 stuff, aliens and what not, I began to wonder whether this whole place was some sort of government cover or an attempt by aliens to misguide would-be alien hunters from discovering their identity. Hmm, I wonder if the women in the bordello use probes of any kind.Speaking of Area 51, I was wandering about with the refuge manager and another volunteer when we heard the sound of jet engines. We all looked up but saw nothing. This type of thing repeated itself during my stay. I was told that you can always hear something but generally never see anything. The manager remarked, “It’s kind of spooky.”More on this later.

Good night for now.