Bikers don't like kilts as much as Tequila.

I woke up at 7:30 yesterday morning feeling absolutely no ill effects from the previous evenings drinking. While this isn't exactly a rare occurrence these days as I've somehow lost communication with the part of my self that is able to tell me that I need sleep, food, and to be drinking a lot less, something amazing did happen.

I felt good.

Not 'okay,' not 'fine,' not 'pull-yourself-up-by-the-bootstraps-bucko'...

Good.

I don't quite remember the last time I felt good like this but it's nice, I'm enjoying it, and I'm looking forward to be feeling, sometime soon hopefully, the same feeling I had upon waking yesterday.

---

I rolled out of bed, ironed the Utilikilt, grabbed the camera, and headed to work. I was happy I brought the camera too, because the usually mountainous landscape had an eerie, Halloween-esque feel to it.

The full moon had settled to just above the horizon, and an advancing storm was threatening to pull it under the clouds and out of my view. The weather report said that we'd be having a nice day in the city, but the chain-laws were in effect in the mountains, and they were having blizzard-like conditions. The Rockies reflected this as the foothills that rise up out of the Western edge of the city were the only things that were to be seen clearly. The normally glorious view that the mornings present of the mountains behind the foothills, with the sun hitting them head-on, had vanished completely in favor of a flat-gray band of heavy, cold-looking, clouds.

While I was bitter about not being able to get my fix of one of my favoritest morning views ever, I could still appreciate the surreal feeling it gave me, and grabbed the camera. Unfortunately, traffic actually started moving at that point and, while I was debating between being \"the guy I'm normally screaming at\" and snapping a photo while driving, my decision was made for me when a giant moving truck pulled alongside me and blocked all possible shots. After he moved on, there were trees. After the trees came the office buildings, and by the time I was finally open for a picture, the foothills had shifted and my shot was lost.

It was most cool though, trust me.

---

After I parked and began trekking to the front, a violent gust of wind blasted across the lot, and my kilt ended up blowing all over the freakin' place. There's some 'Division of Rivers Office of Wildlife' or some shit on the bottom floor of our building, and I gave those that were looking an interesting show, especially after I started giggling and threw a Marilyn pose.

Tee hee.

I really love my job though, and not wanting to get fired, I'd given careful consideration to going \"True Scots\" or not. I'd brought along some undies, just in case I turned into a total pussy and started worrying about sexual harassment and all that shit. Despite the fact that the wind that hit my fellas was FUCKING COLD, my desire not to offend anyone unknowingly with such blatant display of the guys was what made me put on that pair of boxer briefs. Naturally, there were no more displays the entire day, but I know, had I NOT had them on, there would have been.

---

Sadly, very few people that promised to dress up, actually dressed up, and I knew that I didn't really count as I wear the Utilikilt on any occasion, including working outside on the weekends and GroundHog Day.

Gayb0y didn't disappoint though, and I'd barely sat down when he popped into my cube.

He was quite excited because his husband, Rainman, was dressed up too, though he wouldn't let me take his picture. Flam disappointed me terribly by not only failing to dress up as one of the Williams Sisters, but he didn't even attend the Pot Luck that we had. I'm beginning to think he doesn't love me anymore.

I posed for a couple shots that I plan on entering into the Utilikiltarian of the month contest on the Utilkilt web site. They've got an At Work Gallery too, and at the very least I should make it into that.

CoworkerBuddy agreed to snap some photos for me but his picture-taking skills are sorely lacking. Instead of moving the camera, himself, or zooming out when he couldn't fit all of me in the shot, he just asked me to slouch down. Of course I did, and the debate over which of us is a bigger idiot rages on.

This picture doesn't do justice to the Nerf D@rt Guns, blinky bouncy balls, yo-yos, and other assorted shit that is preciously stored in my cube, but you still get the idea.

Gayb0y came by again, mostly because he's as big a camera whore as I am.

After the picture was taken, he was very impressed as he lisped, \"You're sssso tall!\" At least he still loves me.

One of the only other people to dress up is not my most favorite person. Not long after I started this diary I wrote in exasperation about having to go in and clean up her work. I had to disguise her too, but the Hanson glasses were cool enough to stay. Her costume wasn't bad either, I guess.

---

Last night, me, CoWorkerBuddy and our co-worker/his roommate, RoomateGirl, all went out and took on that thriving CowTown, home of beer and politicians, Golden, Colorado.

There's not a ton of bars that either of them like save a few, and we ended up spending most of the night in a great dive bar, where we met up with some of CoWorkerBuddy's friends, one of whom is the self-proclaimed, \"Captain of Golden.\" I believe it too, for there must have been 200 people in and out of that bar over the night, and he knew every fucking one of them. He didn't just know everybody, but loved everybody. Captain Social Butterfly flitted from group to group all night.

It was pretty cool hanging out with him and having numerous women make attempts at lifting up the kilt. Sadly, the quickest I had to be all night was against the most aggressive lifter of them all, a tight, tiny nurse who is married and may actually know the Mom, I'm not sure. She sure wanted under there though and even bought me a beer to bribe me. Hey, you know me, anything for free beer. I still didn't show her though, something about her aggressiveness turned me off. Oh, and she got so drunk that she passed out into our booth.

Before I knew it, RoomateGirl and I were having deep conversations about literature and college, I was helping CoWorkerBuddy work a couple girls at the Pinball machine, Captain Butterfly was introducing me to a biker that wanted to kick my ass, and I was so goddam drunk that when I exited the men's room I pitched forward flat onto my face.

The Captain picked me up and brushed me off, CoWorkerBuddy grabbed my jacket, and I told the biker that I'd give him all he could handle on another night. He told me that he'd fight fair, no weapons or anything. I told him that I NEVER fight fair, don't use weapons either, but I would kick him in the junk and bite his ears and such and that this is the precise reason that I am undefeated in bar brawls.

I did NOT tell him that my record is 1-0 and that I'm a complete pussy too.

Then RoomateGirl subtly reminded me that I didn't necessarily know why BikerGuy wanted to kick my ass.

She made an excellent point, so I asked him.

He used many colorful words to describe my attire, it's improperness (is that a word?), my sexual orientation, and my alleged sexual proclivities towards animals.

I told him simply that I'm an easy-going guy that's just wearing a kilt and that I am none of the things he just shouted at me. I told him I would be happy to buy him a beer with my remaining $1.25, and that after that, if he still wanted to fight, I'd gladly \"stomp a fucking hole in his head.\"

I threw in the tough talk to mask the fact that I was shaking and terrified.

He laughed and asked me if I was serious. I told him that I was very drunk and wanted to go lay someplace flat and comfortable. I told him that I wanted nothing to do with his obvious issues with a man who is self-confident enough to carry himself around in a skirt, and if he was going to impose those issues upon me, I was going to react very harshly and violently.

I, once again, neglected to tell him that my reaction would be much more similar to screaming-like-a-little-girl-and-running-away than harshness-and-violence, but I'd had a rough week and was able to pull off the 'mean' look, I guess.

He laughed again, grabbed the bar wench, and ordered 2 shots. He told me that he'd let me go home if I downed some Tequila with him, and I could keep my 'fucking buck and a quarter.'

I'd be lying if I told you that the situation went all Disney after that and we became friends. He still called me a \"c*m-drunk fagg0t\" and told me to go home and pass my 'girly ass out' but, hey, free Tequila and no ass-whuppin'. I came out alright.

---

I awoke at 7:45 AM, still drunk, and found that CoWorkerBuddy and RoomateGirl's two labs decided to play, and that the couch I was sleeping on was one of their favorite spots to do so. Having my small speckled gotard step on my balls in the mornings is nothing like an 85-pound lab. My condolences to those of you that deal with this, may the ice on your nuts always be cold and comforting.

This is when I found one of their fuzzy-streamer toys after getting up. I don't know why it was in my boot but I suppose I was fortunate that it was the only thing in there.

I'm pretty sure that I was still drunk, so I waited until my head started to hurt before I walked back to the bar for my truck. Thankfully, there is a St*rbucks across the street, and the nice lady making my coffee threw in an extra shot because I 'obviously needed it sweetie.'

When the six-foot blonde cutie making coffee notices how shitty I look without ever commenting on the Utilikilt, something's got to change.

I think I'm going to quit drinking for a while.

Avast, ye scurvy dogs!

I'm going to whine a bit, okay a shitload, so move on if you're not in the mood for my pissass, pathetic, venting.

---

Bell's palsy is a disorder caused by damage to cranial nerve VII, involving sudden facial drooping and decreased ability to move the face.

A little over three years ago, I had just started seeing the Girl again (time number 3, for those counting). While she was off in Cozumel on a scuba trip, my roommate (a college hockey teammate and fellow Montanan) and I went for a night out. We got a big 'ol bucket o' chicken, a case of beer, and went to a Drive-In Movie. We were white-trashing it up, and it was great. I figured I'd go all out and pack my cheek full of some tobacky. This was fine, except my lip was kind of numb. I thought nothing of it until I went to spit, and most of the viscous, brown, juice went down the side of my face.

At first, I thought I must be drunk, and I forgot about it, figuring that, at the very worst, I must have been bitten by some disease-ridden, Amazonian, insect.

The next morning, my cheek was also numb, and the right side of my mouth didn't line up with the rest of my mouth when I smiled.

A few days passed, and I eventually lost the ability to close my right eye completely. The Mom, and her LifePartner, were both nurses, so I consulted them on their vast medical expertise. Neither really knew, but LifePartner speculated that it may be Bell's Palsy, as she'd seen it recently in a friend's patient.

A day later, I was wearing an eyepatch to keep that fucking thing closed, lest it dry out. I spent most of my day at work scouring the internet for information on this disease that I supposedly had. The results of my searches were not very reassuring. No one seemed to know how or why someone contracts it, and it can last anywhere from a couple weeks, to the rest of my goddam life.

Eating got messier and messier, and I drooled almost constantly. It was like being at a party where you drink and drink, yet don't feel drunk, despite the fact that your body is rebelling against you. Oh, and I got to wear a cool-ass eyepatch. YARRR!!!!

I signed on to numerous forums that were mostly designed for people to lend support to one another. As is usual, I kept high spirits, and made far, far too many pirate jokes (here's to you, Bethie-baby). Everyone else seemed to want to feel their deserved self-pity, but I just wanted to know that there was a good chance that I'd heal and some day be able to display my shit-eating grin again in all it's glory.

After 5 days, the entire right side of my face was completely numb and drooped clear down into my lap. I looked like the fucking Theatre Masks, built from two into one, and to say it was disconcerting would be a tremendous understatement.

I still lived my life as normal and was to this day, the best goddam one-eyed fuckin' goalie that my hockey league had ever seen.

I still knew that something was terribly wrong though, and I could only pray that time would take care of it.

It did, and three weeks later, I was fine.

---

My body, my life, and my self all feel like that right now. I feel numb, but not completely numb. I feel like a part of me has completely lost feeling, and it is utterly useless until the proper passage of time can heal it.

There are benefits to this, much like the gleeful overusage of my pirate jokes, as I don't seem to get hangovers anymore, despite how much I drink and how little sleep I get. I am no longer hungry, for anything, and I eat only to provide my body with the fuel it needs to continue functioning in it's current capacity. Caffeine is wonderful for this as well, and bless WarCry for her suggestion on the combination of Mountain Dew and a Snickers bar. I am wired from 9 to 6, and it's fucking great. I've switched back to beer from wine, because I'm not as hungry in the morning after a twelve pack the night before, as I am when I down a liter and a half of cheap Chardonnay. Funny the things we learn.

The Girl, completely expectedly, has thrown all the brakes and the E-brake, on any semblance of what we had before, and has moved on so completely that I wonder at times what the hell we were even doing together in the first place. This is how she is, and I knew this, but it doesn't mean it doesn't hurt any less when she acts like she never gave 3 shits about me in the first place. All that I was to her, all I tried to be, is seemingly discarded in favor of her rediscovered \"freedom\" from me.

I am not in a good place, and she seems fine, and already has her a pseudo-boyfriend. I say 'pseudo' to be polite, as I won't write how I really feel about her 'dating' activities. This guy is now on our 9-ball pool team, and last night after we talked, I did one of the first completely self-serving acts of this Post-Relationship Apocalypse.

I quit the team.

I don't need that shit in my life.

I may not have handled things well with everything that went on, but I never rubbed her fucking nose in it.

Jesus, sorry, some pent-up hostility coming out, and I'm sorry, but I don't give a fuck who that bothers.

Yes, I'm drunk, but it's MY diary.

---

Work, as much as I muddle through it begrudgingly, is fucking fantastic, and I am gaining status and recognition for my perceived brilliance. To continue this perception will require diligent application of this brilliance though, and I'm not great about that right now. Thank Dog for a great boss, who knows whats going on, and who tells me over lunch about how he wrote some really great poetry after he caught his first fiancé in bed with another man.

Great News on the Homosexual front too, Flam is back, in his temp role, and things are once again decidedly pink in CubeWorld. Apparently, Flam is a kickass DodgeBall player too, and Gayb0y and his husband of 12 years, Rainman, are all a-twitter to have their l'il buddy back at our company.

I confess, I'm happy to see him too, because most of my outrageously Un-PC gay jokes were getting a little old for Gayb0y. Rainman doesn't really pay any attention to anything other than CompanyData anyway, so he hasn't missed anything, but I've had some real beauties.

A great moment happened though, when CoWorkerBuddy and I were discussing High School \"Most Likely\" voting. CoWorkerBuddy confessed rather sheepishly that he was voted \"Best Smile\" right after I told him happily that I was voted \"Most Likely To Use Laughter As A Way Out Of Significant Jailtime\" as well as \"Most Likely To Face Significant Jailtime For Sexual Harrassment.\" Apparently, I was a bit of a horny jackass in High School. I still don't see it (naked pictures ladies, keep 'em comin'... HA!).

This is when Gayb0y stepped in and announced proudly that in High School he was voted, \"Best Swish.\" Our eruption of laughter almost drowned out Flam's announcement that he was voted \"Most Likely To Set A New World Record For Eating C0ck.\"

That's wrong in so many ways, but I haven't laughed that hard in a month.

---

Tomorrow is a Halloween dress-up day, and I'm taking my camera to capture those with which I share my light-hearted work days. I'm cheesing out, and simply wearing the Utilikilt that I recently discovered hiding subversively in, of all goddam places, my fucking closet.

So, pictures to come, and thanks for putting up with my incredibly whiny bullshit.

Big Scary Kitties

Uffda. It's been quite a week. Thank you for all your emails and such, you guys are awesome. I didn't think so many freakin' people read this depressing slop, much less cared.

So thanks.

---

My friends and teammates are apparently quite caring too. That, or they're sick as shit of my moping around. Either way, they did cool stuff for me.

My Tuesday Roller Hockey team is throwing a pre-celebration party, in hopes that one of our teammates, the Gypsy, is going to get picked for the MTV's The Real World. Plus, it's sort of a feel-better-Judd-you-gloomy-bitch party too. Though I didn't show any remote excitement at the certainty of hot European women being there, they did promise to get me righteously drunk and tattoo something sick and wrong on my buttocks. I can hardly wait.

Even though the Gypsy auditioned in Boulder, I don't know where the show will be set. Real World Denver would be cool, because then they'll have the cameras at the Gypsy's hockey games, and the World can see the wonder that is The JuddHole in Net.

Heh, they'll probably get me kissing my posts, or scratching my ass or balls or something because I do that kind of shit a lot during games.

That would rock.

My Wednesday Ice Hockey team was understandably put-off by my performance last week and made a nice gesture towards me as well. I don't mean put-off by my game performance, as we won 2-1, but rather the several small tantrums I threw before, during, and after the game.

Sports Water Bottles seal relatively tight, but the cap will pop right off if dropped from a height of say, 4 feet, or from the boards by the bench. I'd set my bottle there before warm up, and someone had accidentally knocked it off, cracking the cap and spilling it's entire contents. I'm a big, fat, goalie and sweat a lot, and I needs me my water during an hour and a half game, so I was pretty pissed.

Being in the pissy mood that I was, I began screaming at the inconsiderate Pisshead that had spilled my water and hadn't even picked it up. I skipped half of my warm-up just to shout at the astonished faces peering back at me from the bench. By the time I was done, I had barely noticed that they'd grabbed another bottle, had filled it from all of their own, and had put it on my net.

It's a bit of an understatement to say that I felt like kind of an ass.

The game wasn't bad, but we missed on a ton of chances and should've beaten that team far, far worse than we did. Later, while taking off our gear in the lockerroom, I remember shouting that the defense wasn't bad, but that the offense 'blew Dead Rhino.' When someone didn't hear me and asked me to repeat what I'd said, I screamed to the entire lockerroom my thoughts on the game. They weren't pleased.

The showers, and the lockerroom, were cold and I cursed at everyone near me until we'd all dressed and left.

Monday, I found out that we've got new jerseys from another bar that is sponsoring us. Our team name is The Big Sc@ry Lions, and this is what they want to put on our jerseys...

I figured that having a team named \"The Big Sc@ry Lions\" would obviously want to keep things fairly tongue-in-cheek, so I suggested something like this...

I was very wrong, and my idea was unceremoniously denied. Hell, I even sent the team an email apologizing for being such a pissybitch the week before. Seriously though, would you be more afraid of a big, fat goalie with the first lion on his chest, or the second?

Seriously, look again...

RAAAAWWWWWRRRRR.

---

Wednesday night, after putting on most of my goalie shit, I went to fill my (new) water bottle.

This was waiting on my bag when I got back...

Did you see the stitches? They're actually sewn on. Notice as well, she's got a little goalie stick.

That's love, people.

We're still not getting her on our jerseys though.

---

Thursday, as I was getting more of Gayb0y's bestest-shit-ever coffee, he came bouncing into the break room and asked me if I could help him with something. I told him that I don't make very good coffee, nor do I 'swing that way' but I'd do pretty much anything else if he gave me enough beer. He laughed and swatted my arm before telling me that he has an idea for a report that we could build and market to our existing clients.

I know shit about the data, but I told him that, if he could get that shit together, I'd make it pretty. I used that word, \"pretty,\" and he liked that.

We went to work. It took me an hour or so to get together what he wanted, and he clapped gleefully when I showed him what I had. He left, and I went back to quietly resenting him and his husband-of-twelve-years (another Data Analyst for our company) for their continued winning of the office Football Pool (seriously, one of them picks based on uniform color, and the other one can talk with the utmost confidence, and a lilting lisp of course, about QB rating and 3rd down percentage... frightening).

Today (Friday), I went to lunch with my boss and we had a great conversation about life, love, and happiness, as well as... um, work. Strange how you never really consider someone in a certain aspect, and then you end up taking two hours to eat your Wendy's Chicken Strips Salad while you discuss all the shit going on in your life. We went back to the office, and I was feeling something that I hadn't felt in an interminably long time...

I felt inspired.

I sat down and, for the next 4 hours, built an application that is, in all actuality, probably going to make the company an additional two thousand dollars a day in sales.

Fuckin' yeah, go me.

The full weight of this hadn't really occurred to me until my boss came back by my cube and I showed him what I'd created. He kept shaking his head in disbelief at every click of my mouse. Eventually he turned, looked at me, and asked, \"Dude, do you realize what you've done?\"

I said, \"Sorry, I know I was supposed to be changing all that text in those sample reports... sorry.\" I hung my head despondently, and then wailed, \"Am I FIRED?!?\"

He laughed and then left to go see if he could find the VP and tell him that I was brilliant. I let him go, mostly because I WAS feeling quite brilliant.

I had just sent an email to CoWorkerBuddy, who's in Prague on vacation, reassuring him that he needed to proceed with his last night there and take that town by storm, despite the fact that a large-breasted woman had just been rubbing his junk and saying in Czech, \"I want sex, I want sex.\" He was a touch forlorn as it turned out that she didn't exactly want \"sex\" but the $50 in his front pocket. I had to tell him that he couldn't let this discourage him, but he had to forge on, seek out his future sweet, young, Czech maiden for the evening, and rubber-band his remaining cash to his scrotum, but not too tight, as it'll cut off all circulation and things'll stop working (please don't ask how I know this).

Right around 45 minutes later, Gayb0y came flouncing into my cube. He normally tends to be extremely quiet when he enters my cube, not so this time. He gave a slight yelp and then grabbed my head, from behind, and held it to his chest. \"They bought it,\" he squealed excitedly, \"they bought our idea!\" As happy as I was that he was happy (not that happy, you fuckin' perverts), I didn't quite know what the hell he was talking about, so I said, \"What the hell are you talking about?\"

Turns out, the Senior Executives, as well as some of our Board of Directors, are in love with Gayb0y's idea, and are going to market it for, get this, an additional million dollars a year, per client.

Holy shit.

I took a minute to remind Gayb0y that this was, in fact, his idea, that I only told him I could build the interface and the logic, and I was, in reality, just a 'humble carpenter' to his 'brilliant architect' (no that's not a Jesus inference, I know I'm not Jesus, only because I know he wouldn't masturbate as much as I do).

Gayb0y hugged my head again (if you're 'married' to another man for 12 years, do you still have to bathe in CK cologne?) and told me that he wouldn't have pitched it had I not built him the 'look, baby the look, they bought the LOOK and the idea.'

---

So, all in all, not a bad week. Even if I was mildly molested by a gay married man.

Is it wrong that, in lieu of love that I had to leave, and love that I cannot have, I am in love with my job, with my career?

I'm inclined not to think so, as other than a small, brown, bitchy-as-all-get-out dog, that's all I've got right now.

A day in the life of JuddHole.

In lieu of anything interesting and/or non-depressing in nature, I thought I'd give you:

A day in the life of Judd

4:16 AM - Wake up for no reason whatsoever. Shift uncomfortably in bed and accidentally kick dog in the head. Mutter apology to dog, and curse at her for seemingly-out-of-the-blue cuddliness.

6:19 AM - Wrestle mentally with A) the idea that getting up now means the day is fucked, just from it's earliness, and 2) the knowledge that blissful, dreamless sleep will finally occur roughly 7 minutes before alarm goes off.

7:29 AM - Drift off into blissful, dreamless sleep.

7:36 AM - Throw alarm clock across room. Marvel that, even in intense anger at the alarm and the violent actions towards it, it's safety was still considered, and it was thrown clothes hamper instead of the fucking wall.

7:37 AM - Realize that throwing something into my dirty underwear can't possibly be regarded as 'condsiderate,' but rather 'cruel as fuck.' Climb into shower and swing towel around, Jackie-Chan style, at swarm of mosquitos living in bathtub. Refuse to actually shower until they are all dead, dead, dead.

7:47 AM - Climb into the Football Helmet Truck, commence driving to work. Call every other driver a 'complete fuckhead' for anything that could possibly be perceived as a driving error, such as going less than 10 miles OVER the speed limit, or not stomping with full weight on the gas pedal the exact millisecond the light turns green. Realize that I don't really mean it 'cause I'm a grouchy fuck and, 10 miles later, silently apologize to the woman in the Toyota Rav4 that I called a 'shitsm0king c*ntbag.'

8:16 AM - Pull into work parking lot, maneuver racing-striped-mildly-pimped-out-creaking '98 Dakota directly between Lexus SUV and year-old Audi. Resent the fuck out of other vehicle's owners. Plop down in cube in eager anticipation of a breakfast of... coffee.

8:42 AM - Thoroughly enjoy cup of post-coffee-for-breakfast coffee. Spew post-coffee-for-breakfast coffee all over cubicle wall after realizing that the \"Mini-Moos\" creamer packets in the office fridge don't have expiration dates on them... and for-the-love-of-all-non-chunky-dairy-products should.

9:25 AM - Finish reading moronic emails and a few diaries. Treat self to a mid-morning snack of... coffee. Realize that Gayb0y brought his grinder in and what I'm drinking my be just about the bestest shit ever. Exclaim this loudly to neighboring cubes using that exact phrasing. Jump from chair when Gayb0y bounds quietly, yet aggressively, into cube asking if I really did like the coffee or was I, 'jussssst sssssaying thaaaat.'

10:45 AM - Finish preparing day for stuff-that-looks-like-work-but-we-all-know-really-isn't. Treat self to pre-lunch snack of... coffee. Slap at cheeks to stop them from vibrating from caffeine overload. Slap again at cheeks to check for feeling. Slap at hands to stop them from vibrating. Attempt to explain to co-workers all the slapping noises. Pee 17 times over the next hour.

11:35 AM - Consume lunch consisting of 32 oz. Baja Fresh cup of ice-cold water. After placing cup under spout in office breakroom, stand hunched facing water cooler with both hands at mid-section, and sigh loudly while filling cup noisily. Smirk at head-shaking and assorted laughter from lunching co-workers. Respond at being called 'juvenile' with 'nuh-unh, YOU are.' Giggle fiendishly, on the inside, at the incredibly lame 'look at me, I'm peeing into my own cup' joke. Giggle even more fiendishly after realizing that this joke was blatantly swiped from a buddy's diary and, in the event it would be written about, absolutely zero credit would be given much in the same way 'ninja', 'fucktard', and 'stab you in the face with a monkey gun' have all been swiped with little or no credit.

12:20 PM - Actually start working.

12:45 PM - Congratulate self on incredible productivity in such a short time. Celebrate by sitting on picnic tables outside for an hour and drinking Mountain Dew as we are all out of coffee. Revel in caffeine AND sugar high. Pinch cheeks in attempt to get them to stop vibrating.

1:45 PM - Fondly rembember the Sports section of the newspaper and the times reading it when it was actually necessary to sit when using the restroom at work. Cinch up belt on pants another notch. Return to desk and continue 'actual work.'

4:45 PM - Finish 'actual work' for the day. Congratuate self on incredibly productive day. Begin writing email/diary entry/random bullshit that causes tears/laughter/gas in the now-empty-except-for-Judd cubeworld.

5:15 PM - Go to boss's office to inform him of impending departure. Mistakenly ask if he needs anything else.

5:35 PM - Mistakenly attempt to verify that boss received exactly what he needed.

5:57 PM - Explain to boss that departure is happening regardless of his needs.

6:10 PM - Actually depart for home, pulling out of lonely parking lot in Rednecked-out Pickup Truck. Turn radio off and drive the entire way home with brooding, pensive look on face, yelling at no one.

6:45 PM - Arrive home to a bouncing Asshead, who still looks expectantly behind me for either the Girl or Dingbat, as she's sure that I've hidden them and they'll be along at any time. Placate her with big, chewy treat. Shake can of flake food vigorously while calling to frenzied fish, \"Who's Hungryyyyyy?\" Realize that the shaking motion of the can is what attracts fish to surface and most likely not calling them like a goddam dog. Ask out loud what kind of moron does such a thing. Feel like moron.

7:20 PM - Depart for cross-town drive to hockey game. Brood contemplatively entire drive while smoking several cigarettes.

8:45 PM - After 2 periods of hockey, realize that smoking several cigarettes before game wasn't the best idea. Cough. Cough again. Play like a RockStar. Win. Leave the bar at the rink, much to the dismay of teammates, and drive home while they party like RockStars with our Winning Pitchers of Beer. Smoke several more cigarettes during drive. Cough repeatedly.

9:56 PM - Write depressing shit in email/diary entry/Word doc.

11:08 PM - Go to bed. Cough for 10 minutes straight. Bitch at dog because she never wants to cuddle during waking hours. Purposely think about anything in the World but one particular subject in order NOT to dream about that particular subject.

1:24 AM - Fall asleep, dream in incredible detail about exactly that particular subject.

Stage 10 – Depression

Just in case you missed any. I know I added a bunch at once. There's an order, hopefully you'll figure it out. Hint: 1, then 2, then 3, and so on...

Stage 1

Stage 2

Stage 3

Stage 4

Stage 5

Stage 6

Stage 7

Stage 8

Stage 9

Stage 10 - Depression

Ahhhh, good times.

When there is a gnawing at my gut, an ache, a pain, somewhere deep inside of me, I've learned that it's not hunger. Oh no, it's Depression, slinking into my life, gripping my insides in his clutches, and twisting.

When the World loses it's color and the Rocky Mountain Mornings are simply an affectation of the Planet's rotation, it's Depression, with his hands over my eyes, filtering through only what I need to not bump into things when I walk.

When children's laughter is annoying instead of sweet and the music coming from my speakers is more noise than anything else, it's Depression, with his hands over my ears, filtering through only what I need not to completely ignore people around me.

When food loses its taste and any possible appeal, it's Depression, with his hand in my mouth covering my taste buds, and he isn't even bothering to filter out the rancid taste of the spoiled Sour Cream I attempted to eat for dinner the other night.

When nothing gets me aroused sexually anymore and I barely even get Morning Wood once a week, it's Depression, walking by casually and giving me a \"bag-tag\" the minute I start to think about sex. Those really hurt the worst, by the way, if you don't do them that hard. If you just give 'em a flick, it's crippling.

When I can't sleep without drinking myself into oblivion and lie awake at 4 AM wondering what the hell I'm going to do with my life, it's Depression, pulling at my eyelids and whispering a mountain of misgivings into my ears.

When the heart in my chest hurts, physically hurts, so badly that I worry I may drop dead any second, it's Depression, plucking at my heart's strings and reminding me that a lot of the good that was in my life is going the way of the Dodo.

Depression doesn't really say anything too loudly, he just worms his way into my life and craps all over whatever he can find. He perches on the edge of the fridge, hides in the corner of the shower, lurks in my closet, and rides shotgun in my truck when I drive an hour to my nephew's birthday in Greeley.

He waits and waits until the moment is right, and then he asserts his presence with the pall that he casts over me.

. . .

He's gonna hate the present you got him. Really, who buys a 5-year old a chainsaw?

\"It's a H0me Depot Toy Chainsaw, it's loud and it's got parts that move, what's not to like?\"

You should've gotten toys for the other two kids. They're gonna be pissed that you showed up with nothing for them.

\"Shit man. I'll run to the store when I get there, okay?!?\"

You shouldn't even be gone all day today anyway, it's your last day to spend with Dingbat.

\"Yeah, I know. My retarded dog will be upset with me because I went to spend time with my 3 cute, wonderful nephews. Shut it.\"

She's going to go live with the Girl, and you'll be all alone with your Asshead. You should be getting all the love from that dog that you can, while you can.

\"I'll give her a bone when I get home, then I'll let her sleep on my lap while we watch football tonight, that's all she really asks.\"

Home? It's not even going to be 'home' for much longer. You have to sell your great house, and move to some shithole, where you're dog will run away, your neighbors will hate you and your truck will be vandalized. You'll be lucky if they don't try and sodomize you with your smelly hockey equipment.

\"Jeezus! You don't let up do you? What'll it take to get you to go the fuck away?!?\"

Peanut Butter Cup ice cream ain't gonna do it this time. I'm here for a while, punk.

\"I'm going to punk your ass bad, you fuck, when I become deliriously happy and you're nowhere to be found.\"

HA! Your life is circling the drain, I'm just here to remind you of that.

\"It ain't that bad, I've got a lot goin' for me.\" (pause) \"I really do. I've got... Hey. Where'd you go? Where the hell are you? Sonova... Yeah, and stay out!\"

---

Just like that, he drops out of sight. His residual effects fade pretty quickly too, but I know he'll be back soon enough.

Right now I'm doing what I can against him on my own. I know that he hates good coffee, bright sunshine, and cuddly, stupid dogs, so I'm just trying to keep those things around. It ain't easy. My coffee still isn't that great, and it's been cloudy lately. Meh, it's Colorado, the sky will clear, and I'll look in the Gourmet Coffee aisle and see if they have any Anti-Depression Beans. I'll have to look by the Mocha-Java, I guess, 'cause that's where I'd stock them.

A visit from Happiness, or even his buddy, Contentment would suffice, for now, to drive Depression back into his muddy, dank hole, but I don't see them coming for a while, and Depression already has his own towel on the rack and his toothbrush by the sink.

Right where the Girl's used to be.