I appear to be in an odd position lately, an opposite position. I crave things that I don't want, if that makes any sense. My job is wearing me out, physically; it exhausts me, not from manual exertion but from a total lack of it.

In a meeting last week I'd been on the outside of a discussion about other positions in a company we'd soon be supporting. I nodded as the two very white-collar men talked about the carriers and cart pushers that could call in to us for support, about what their workload consisted of.

Don't call it a comeback, I've been here for years. Or, haven't posted in years. Well, at least months – and it'll probably be another six months before I actually build up the temerity to write anything longer than 140 characters again.

So, it's been about four months since my last update. I've said it before, I think, at the beginning of damned near every post for the past few years, I've been busy, whatever. Especially now with Facebook and Twitter allowing me to just throw up a quick status update, it's hard to gather up the gumption to write more than a few paragraphs – but then I end up with regret that I'd neglected to write and will forget the events that have transpired.

Still making music every Friday night, and I'm pretty sure the drama-filled growing pains are just about over. All healthy and good to get the system pure. New tunes will probably be posted within few weeks.

My proverbial plate is brimming. On top of all Wingmen productions I'm still working on Blogorian, and now I'm working on a zombie-based project with DR, Woodall, Robin and Kevin. That one's going to be a couple years in the making, so don't expect much word on that for quite a while.

Elizabeth is going to be two-years-old in eight days. My baby girl is...

The struggle of late has been between the desire to document my life and get the word out and the desire not to whine. When these two desires butt heads, I find it easy to take the path of least resistance and procrastination and not say anything at all. The desire to express myself has finally won out.

I’ve been going through a lot of self-renewal lately; a lot of changes and a lot of discovery.

Sorry guys, this occurred to me on the way in to work this morning and I had to jot it down. It's not personal, it's not about anyone I know, it's just me flexing my creative muscles.

I think skeletons are scary. Always have. I remember one episode of Scooby Doo scaring the hell out of me when I was a kid once because the bad guy was a skeleton. Sea monsters and ghost miners didn’t faze me, but that skeleton sure spooked me. “Nightmare on Elm Street 3, The Dream Warrior” had a skeletal Freddy that I thought was one of the best effects ever for a walking/fighting skeleton. (I’m sure that if I saw it today it would pale in comparison to my memories.) Then “Army of Darkness” had an army of the things, but they still looked like puppets.

Trying to connect the dots in a way that doesn't leave me destitute and homeless. My schedule is changing back to Saturday through Tuesdays - now, I'd thought that since the change away from that schedule brought no small amount of grief, the change back to it would be welcomed. This is not the case. But, life goes on.

What has me concerned is that no matter how I try to organize my money, I'm not making enough. Flat out, within a few months I will be completely broke - and this doesn't include finding someone to watch Elizabeth on the Saturdays and Sundays that I work.

I've been teetering on the edge of posting about this lately, but something just came to light that really has me, well, upset. Not mad or angry (well, maybe a touch) but disturbed and I guess heartbroken. Still surprises me how easily that can happen.

So let's open up this can of worms so I can open my heart even further to stabs and daggers. Because that's what I do, I open myself up and get surprised when pain walks in.

I'm going to be watching Elizabeth for a long weekend in February because Vickie and the kids are going out of town.

It's a crushing weight; I can literally feel shoulders pulled down. And it's a specific feeling - it's not a typical depression, or stress. This is an ominous sludge that I can't help but walk through. It's like I can feel it pulling me along and into its maw. I know of two moments in my life that I've felt this before, and if they're any indication... well, something wicked this way comes. Do I think I'm psychic? No, of course not.