three weeks. that’s all it takes. hell, it only takes a day, really. for us it was three weeks, going from a seemingly normal life to fear and sadness. it’s like a hollywood story, really, with a happy ending, but the type of happy ending where things have changed. people have changed, one person physically, and the rest of us emotionally, mentally. none of us are the same now. none of us can go back to where we were before. we now have the scent of death lingering under our nostrils. and it’s okay. it was a wake up call after all, a jostling of our consciousnesses into the present. no more dwelling on the past or fretting about the future. we are all consciously here, now, aware of every waking second, aware of our breathing, aware of one man lying in a hospital bed, hoping desperately that his guts will start working again. embarrassment flies out the window–we’re all hoping he’ll fart. what a fucking insane hope is that to have.

it’s the christmas present nobody really wanted, but the one we got: a clean bill of health for a good man. the question still remains as to why an omnibenevolent being (if one exists) would give my brother colon cancer and then miraculously not have it spread. the prayers people leave for him are good natured but so strange … did they devil give him cancer? how does this work? it all is very odd, very hard to sift through, and likely a point of contention in my brother’s own head, much less the rest of us. i think truthfully that it is just a mutation of cells, and that when you think of cancer like that, it becomes less existentially and theologically scary. god didn’t do this to you, nor did the devil. it’s just biology, and biology in this case somehow kept the tumor from spreading.

life is amazing that way. we are made of trillions of tiny things, who themselves are made of trillions of even tinier things, and those tiniest things are little more than fluctuations in the basic building fields of the universe. did god or a god create them? who knows. science doesn’t care; they exist, that’s all science knows. and that’s where science and religion can agree, i think. when broken down to its fundamentals, the basics of physics exist simply because they do, because when the void is acted upon, it reacts in four fundamental ways. these fundamental forces exist because they do, that’s all. in religion, god exists because he does. when broken down, everything is a tautology, and that, i think, is the most fundamental mystery of them all.

so, in a very fundamental way, my brother’s cancer existed simply because it did. forces acted upon him and he was forced to react or be consumed. this is the absolute most basic way the universe works. it’s a beautiful thing.

i don’t know what’s out there that i can use to give you the strength you need, but i will use it. i don’t know where to find the strength i will give to you, but i will look. i can’t guarantee this strength will be useful, or that my hand holding on to your hand will be beneficial, or will heal you, but i can guarantee that i will do whatever needs to be done to give you as much help as i am physically, mentally, and emotionally capable of giving. i may live like a hermit in my room, alone and in the dark, but that’s only because i am saving up and building interest on moments like this, moments where you will need my stoicism to help steer the ship, or a quiet presence to help you sleep at night, or simply a body with eyes to watch your children as you recover. these are things i am willing to give you, miles i am destined to travel if such a need should occur. fortunately, you are surrounded by a sea of love and compassion from such a variety of people that my help is not immediately necessary. but should it be, remember: i am here, quiet and calm, ready to use every fiber of my being to help.

darling, i’ve been closed off from people for so long i barely remember what they look like anymore. you might as well be an alien to me right now. i stare at the ground, i shuffle my feet in the grocery aisles, i shop at walmart at 3am so i’m guaranteed to not run into anyone i know. this is my life. it’s not pretty but it’s what i’ve got after seventy years of living. when i got whiskers five years ago she became my best friend, this little tabby cat right here. when i would come home from an errand or whatnot she would be the one to greet me, with no malice, no need for anything except food, love, and a place to sleep. i liked that. so i got another cat, lenny, and another, frank, and then before you know it i’ve got a whole family of kitties, and they’re having kittens and so … i guess you could call me a hoarder. but if you take these cats away you’ll be taking away my entire life. i don’t do anything else, i don’t go anywhere, now that i’m retired. i just tend to these cats, and that one, the dead one you found, well, i’m not sure how that happened but i can assure you it is not normal. it is not normal at all. probably just had an illness or something.

i just want you to know that, though. that if you take these cats you’ll be taking my life away from me. you’ll be sentencing an old woman to death. you think i’m being cruel to these animals but i think you’re being cruel to me. and who is more important? truth is: we both are. we’re all important. and i don’t want to die alone. i want to die with my cats. so unless you bring the police in here to drag these cats out, i respectfully will have to ask you to leave.

i think i broke my ability to be happy. or i can’t find it, at least. or like a knob on an old radio that came off, and now i need a pair of pliers to change the station. but now instead of finding wonder in the world i’m just trudging my way through the days with my head down, working and always surprised at how fast time is going.

occasionally i’m given happiness, or happiness is thrust upon me, if you will. this doesn’t last because i don’t let it, because i don’t feel like i deserve it. i … i try to find these trigger words, words that elicit an emotional response when i think about them and their context. see, depression is like a flat gray blanket over everything, removing color and vibrancy from the world. the blanket is comforting but it also numbs you to everything. i’ve been so numb for so long that occasionally i will find these words or thoughts that will make me feel something, anything. the big one is “failure.” that’s the one that sits with me, my little road trip sidekick through life. the thought of failure piques a dreadful response in my gut, this heavy thought that it will never end, and the constant bombardment of anger that stems from my simple inability to get off my ass and find the energy i need to pursue what i want.

it’s a cycle. it’s a bad cycle. it repeats so often i wish i knew how to become an alcoholic so i could just stop dealing with it. instead i sit on the pedestal my father carved out of his sobriety. i am thankful for that, but still, it would be nice to just be happy for once, even if it’s via the use of chemicals.

here’s my thing about pseudoscience bullshit: medicine and science involving the body, that’s mostly objective stuff. even the placebo effect is a measurable thing. but we know what the liver does, we know what the spleen does. we’ve known for a long time because you can cut open a body and do tests on the organs inside. some organs are obvious: the lungs breathe air, the heart circulates blood, the intestines digest food. others aren’t–i still think nobody knows what a gallbladder is for. so when your mother asks me to take drink some cayenne pepper and maple syrup concoction to “detox” my body, i tell her that’s bullshit. because it is. your body doesn’t need an outside detox, that’s what the liver is for. these new agey medicines are all snake oil sold by pyramid schemers. you can argue with me all you want but it’s true, everyone knows its true. like tim minchen said, if it worked, it wouldn’t be called “alternative” medicine, it would be called medicine.

now, the mind, that’s a different thing. i’ll accept some pseudoscience for stuff involving the brain, because it’s much more mysterious. we’ve been sleeping for millions of years and scientists still don’t quite understand why, or what happens while we sleep. that’s a powerful mystery, let me tell you. why are we conscious? why are we smarter than other animals? this is all stuff that science doesn’t have a clear answer for. so things like meditation and positive thinking, i think actually work, or at least help, and when you forget that, you start to lose yourself a bit. that’s what i was thinking while i was staring at those mugs at seven virtues, at least. sometimes you let the negativity creep in and you’ll see a mug with “compassion” written on it, for instance, and you’ll scoff and walk away. but today i looked at them and was reminded that those are all virtues i have forgotten to practice. especially for myself. so: i’m sorry. that’s my start, right here, right now. i’m sorry.

there was a lot of hullabaloo about you not being there tonight, lot of old men in tuxedos looking around for your grand entrance. a lot of people are counting on you, ted. financially and otherwise. and this constant secrecy is making them nervous. now every time i bring this up you say you have it under control, meanwhile your beard grows longer and your fingernails are out of control. you look like goddamn howard hughes, man. you’re quickly becoming the biggest embarrassment batchco has ever encountered, more of an embarrassment than your father. i know plenty of people in this company who would like nothing more than to throw you out a goddamn window, ted, but despite being batshit crazy, you’re still smart as a whip, and still have over fifty percent stock in this company.

i don’t want to be mad at you, ted, but you’re giving me little option here. when’s the last time you showered? or ate anything besides that soylent paste bullshit. when’s the last time you made a decision about the future of your company? you’ve got ellen running every aspect for you. when’s the last time you even left this room? look, ted, it doesn’t matter where you go or what you do, unless you live in a hermetically sealed room, you’re going to get germs on you. you’re going to get dirty. this house is over a hundred years old, you don’t think there are rats running under the floorboards, shitting everywhere? i wouldn’t be surprised if there a carbon monoxide leak … i’d love it ted if you would FUCKING TALK TO ME. nobody needs your fucking silent treatment.

… alright. this is it. this is your last chance to turn this around, ted. i’m going to leave this room and i’m going to take control of this company one way or another. the only way you can stop me is to come after me. just stand up and head out the door. or grab me here, even. just do SOMETHING. that’s all we’re asking for. a little fucking leadership.

i had one of those moments last night where i laughed too much. nervous laughter. felt like … a stench coming off of me, you know, something that everyone could smell. everything was funny. to be fair, my friends really are funny, but i felt like i was overdoing it a bit too much, trying to hide how i was feeling inside. but it was a birthday party, it wasn’t for me, per se. it’s weird how social interaction can do that; the last thing you want to do at a party is bring it down with your sadness, and you need the interaction, you need these people around you, so you bolster yourself up a bit and … it really helps. the balloon deflates after you get home but at least for a moment it was full and rising.

last year, around this time, i hit what i would consider a rock bottom, which i tend to define as a low point that precedes a climb upward. this year, a rock bottom was hit for me, in a way. both years ended essentially in a low, like a lesson waiting to be learned. i keep saying that, and each time it rings differently. i was angry, then i was understanding, and now, i’m almost expectant. i get these lessons at the end of every year, like movies get oscar contenders. it borders on annoying. and maybe this is mixed with guilt, the guilt of all those days wandering into the corner store and purchasing junk food to ease the emotional ache hidden in my heart somewhere. knowing that i was doing harm to my body but feeling like the damage was essential, like a sugary chemotherapy.

for the time being, i wallow in sadness and fear, scared for the future, waiting to see if our keystone will hold or if he will fall and take the whole bridge with him.

ah. fresh meat.

welcome to outpost. my name is pavel, and i can tell by the type of weapons and armor they gave you that you are a lifer. your padded armor looks barely more than hay-filled pillow sacks, and those swords … my god. i’ve forged better swords with the heat from my farts. well, come in, come in, if you don’t mind having a seat over there grug here will remove your neck collars. but before we do, a little bit of a warning: outpost has been around for as long as i know. i’m a lifer too, and i took over outpost from an old genasi named dyswin after he died. if you haven’t seen already i’m not with all my appendages, so it’s easier for me to run this community than go out fighting anymore. outpost is here to acclimate newbies into the churning depths, so any questions you have, ask me or princess lillycup in the bar. yes that’s her name, don’t make fun of it or she’ll rip your head off. anyway, the warning. we’re here to help you, right? once we take those collars off, if you have any magical or divine affinity you’ll be able to use it. outpost may be heavily fortified and we have plenty of people ready to fight for us, but we’re still just an outpost, nothing more, nothing less, so if you come at us guns blazing, you’ll be destroying the only sane place in the whole depths, trust me. that’s the warning. don’t do that.

sound good? good. grug, get the collars.

outpost isn’t a city. we have temporary housing for those who need a break but sooner or later you’ll have to leave. everyone who lives her permanently volunteers their time. i’m the overseer of outpost and make sure everything runs smoothly. we have a bar, like i said, hospice for the injured, a free-for-all weapons and armor room that you can pick through for something proper to fight with, toilets with running water (which is probably the most interesting thing in the whole damn depths), and even a crude messaging system if you want to get word out to friends or family on the surface. the longer you’re supposed to be in the depths, the more accommodating we are, but you still have to prove your worth before we’ll help you out. that’s just how it works; a lot of people get killed off down here, and we don’t offer much sympathy for them. it’s the ones who can fight that we want to keep alive.

we are allied with a couple of settlements further down in the depths, but those ones are more like pit stops than anything else. you’ll find the first couple of levels are where most everyone lives, since a lot of people aren’t here for very long. you steal a mint and you get a day or two, you know what i mean? the farther down you go, the more you’re likely to see lifers hanging about. lowest anyone’s gotten is the 52nd level, and when they came back they were certifiably insane and missing half of their face, so we can’t even verify if it’s true or not. all i know is, the weird shit lives down there. here for the first few levels it’s almost like a community, but once you hit the underdark … well, it’s every man for himself.

if you have any other questions, feel free to ask now, because in a moment we’re going to kick you out so you can prove your worth. that’s the churning depths way of life.

i have to stare into space like a zen master to keep these emotions at bay. my koan is to not completely evaporate at work. in a sane world we would get time off for grieving. i would be able to be at his side during the whole process. instead i have to work and support myself. in a way this may be ultimately beneficial–the world is nature, after all, and nature is scary. nature always gets you when you least expect it. nature is the mountain lion hiding in the brush. and in a way grief is complacency, grief is putting blinders on to focus on a specific problem. i don’t mean that in a bad way, it’s just how it is. when you grieve you might wish the world to slow down or stop, so you can, you know, grieve. but no matter what you do or what happens to you, life goes on. it never stops, it never gives you a chance to breathe. you bury your dead or live without part of your essential organs, you lose a leg or an arm, you suffer horrendous burns, and you keep living. you still wake up, brush your teeth, take a shit, eat mcdonalds, swear at traffic jams, smile at a dumb joke. that’s the grace of the world, the leniency of it: it doesn’t stop and it doesn’t mind that you have to keep going. it doesn’t fault you for having a life.

my eyes hurt from repressing tears. i didn’t even know that was possible. i walk out in the cold during my lunch break because the cold feels good today, and the city is drab and gray in the daylight, and that palette comforts me, like sensory deprivation. it’s as if the world knows what i’m going through and shut off the color for a bit to keep me sane. in this i realize that the earth is rooting for us. it knows that nature is scary and that time is meaningful for humans, and it helps us out a bit. i appreciate that.