Written in an airport in 2009.

Sitting in the terminal, way too early. Feeling cheap and annoyed at LAX for charging eight bucks for internet access. I refuse, even though: why not? I’m going to be majorly in the hole financially, taking this time off with no pay. What’s another eight freaking dollars?

I have a little talk with myself — there’s nothing I can do about my impending financial doom right now. I’m about to go on vacation for 9 days, about 6 days longer than any vacation I’ve taken since 2007. I close my eyes, trying to calm my mind and manifest a prosperous future.

Closing my eyes feels good and I start to get drowsy. I got plenty of sleep, though, thanks to the usual alarm failure situation this morning. No alarm and I woke 12 minutes before I had to leave the house. I said a silent hosanna for packing my bags the night before, as I lock the door on my un-done dishes and odd piles of junk I had intended to deal with before leaving.

I find myself in a state of chronic lateness, and my procrastination level has hit a new high (or low). I can blame the usual low-grade depression, and the stress of the recent job transition, but it’s becoming very apparent that I need to get a grip. This usually means firing up a support group meeting schedule, which has proved successful in the past of helping me deal with the often-overwhelming series of events that is my life. Near-misses like my alarm failure, the swirling chaos of my apartment, my inability to get things done on time — those are the symptoms of a life that takes comfort in chaos. Such is the life, often, of a human who lived in an alcoholic family. Though not alcoholics ourselves, we sometimes live in or even create chaos because it is what we know. I’m looking forward to turning a page in this book.

I choose to view this trip to Seattle as a fresh start, a good time to start turning that page. I look forward to the work that I’m about to do, and the people I’m about to see and know. Just thinking about it now gives me a little burst of optimism, and hope. The clouds will pass. I can thrive again.