During the days of the Reagan era Cold War, when fingers were poised over the red buttons that would destroy the world, the town I grew up in was listed as a potential 'first strike' target because we were home to a substantial radio component plant that manufactured missile and military communications hardware and software. Our local phone book had evacuation zones listed on the back, and I remember watching "The Day After" and being terrified by the prospect of living through a bomb. I decided that if I ever knew that the missiles were coming, I'd rush to the point of impact to avoid living with the aftermath.

Yesterday, as I stood watching nearly a hundred of my friends, co-workers, and companions for the last year and a half packing their things to leave, I couldn't help but wish I'd been at the point of impact as well.

I'm sad. I'm hurt. I'm angry.

And that's about all I can say now.

Two weeks ago, I fired up the spiffy new electric lawnmower my parents bought me for Christmas, and gave my lawn it's first spring trimming. Since it doesn't get all that cold in Texas, you generally get two months off between November and February, and the rest of the year is spent mowing. I trudge along, fighting my way through a few months worth of semi-dormant lawn growth, and figured I'd head out there again in two weeks.

Have I mentioned it's rained a lot in central Texas lately?

Two days ago, I glanced out the back window as I was washing dishes, and was shocked to discover I've somehow become the owner of an overgrown, abandoned lot. Or at least, that's what my backyard transformed into over 10 days. The front lawn was looking a little scruffy in a George Michael circa 1987 beard sort of way. I figured I'd wait til this weekend and mow it.

And now the weekend is almost over. It's been raining on an off all weekend - never stopping quite long enough to dry up enough to mow. For various reasons, there is no way I'm going to be able to take off early from work this week to mow it.

So I'm left sitting here. Staring out at the drizzle falling on the jungle that is my backyard. And debating whether I'll need a machete to hack my way out to my car by Friday...

On the one hand, I'm happy and excited and for Suz as she embarks on her new adventure.

On the other hand, I'm sad because I've been through that and I know how much it sucks to say goodbye to Mooville.

On the other hand, I'm angry and resolved to deal with a situation which might lose me a friend.

On the other hand, I'm sulking about something work-related that I can't talk about yet.

On the other hand, the sun is out, I've got a new office, and it's a beautiful day.

So basically, I've got a lot of hands today, and anyone who sets foot in my office is probably risking an emotional cyclone. :-)

Note to Bruce,

Do not, do not, do not, see that painful piece of slop called "Pay it Forward"!

I did. Oh man, I did. If I didn't know better, I'd blame it for a dating experience that didn't work out, as we saw that as a first date. Not only was it sappy and sentimental, but it ruined my chances at life, love, and happiness. (Oh alright. That's probably a lie. He thought it was as absurdly bad as I did.)

The high point of the movie came in the last 10 minutes, when - not to give plot away - it descends into pure Hallmark-commercial, Oh-God-Princess-Diana-Is-Dead, Bridges-of-Madison-County-esque, Are-These-Your-Heartstrings-Because-We're-Looking-For-Something-To-Yank melodramatic crap. This last 10 minutes is like... it's like... the emotional equivalent of... your very first kiss. Where you've built it up and built it up in your adolescent mind and it's going to be this touching, wonderful moment where your lips will delicately caress, the heavens will part, the sun will shine down and you and your now-eternal love will be bathed in a beautiful halo of soft romantic light, and then when it finally happens the guy gazes into your eyes, leans forward, opens his mouth wide, attempts to strangle you with his tongue, and fumblingly attempts to grab your ass at the same time.

The reason this was the high point of the film? The three women sitting behind us descended into complete hysterics - sobbing and sniffling and wailing. Here we were, glancing over at each other torn between looks that read, "Oh god. I'm so sorry I suggested we go to this movie" and "Someone cannot possibly have written this down. And been paid for it." and "I see dead box office", and these women beyind us suddenly went off into the twilight zone. They were genuinely moved by this, and as my date and I tried not to start laughing, I couldn't help but wonder if they were seeing a different movie from the seats behind us.

So, um... I think the message here is - don't see "Pay It Forward" unless it's on HBO, it's 2 AM, and there isn't even any worthwhile good soft core porn playing on Skin-e-max.

PS. Suz - don't worry, I've cross-stitched before. Of course, I, uh, tend not to complete them - and I tend to choose, like this one, the hardest ones in the house. Hmmm. Wonder if those two things are somehow related? ;-)