I’ve learned a very valuable and mildly expensive lesson this week: never let my domain registration expire.

I was trying to upload a file for someone on October 31st, Halloween, when my FTP decided to throw the ghastly error “host not found”. I said to myself, “Self, how is that possible?”. I host my own servers, run my own DNS and generally keep track of everything myself. The sinking feeling in my gut told me this wasn’t good and boy was it right. My domain registration had lapsed.

Unfortunately, I had neglected to update the contact information on my domain. My registrar’s plea for more money fell on deaf ears so to speak; the out-of-date email address listed as my primary method of contact was beyond my reach. When I realized that the domain had expired, it had been more than a month. My registrar, Register.com (who I hate with a passion), had released the name back to the dot org registry, forcing me to not only pay their $35 yearly registration fee, but an additional $200 to “recover” the name. I could risk letting it be released to the public and re-register it at GoDaddy, but it was schedule for release on December 5th, when I would be in New Zealand. Not only that, but all of my personal email was bouncing and the thought of all of that unreached spam made me sad.

So now I’m back, for better or worse. Did you miss me?

There is a certain peace that settles over me when I watch the gentle fall of an autumn rain. It puts me in a reflective mood; my attention focused on the road behind me, rather than the path that lies ahead.

There are many things in life that can lead to regret. All of us are faced with challenges in life. When we meet this crossroads, some opt for the clear and easy path, while others choose the one less traveled. Honest reflection is not always an easy or pleasant experience, but it is necessary for growth.

The past month has been a challenging one for me. For a long time I believed that I was capable of facing any threat by myself, with no outside help. This fallacy led me down a dark and dangerous path. When I reached the end of that road, I found myself alone in a frightening place, seperated from those who love me by a wall of my own creation. I came to the end of that path to destruction and paused to look at the trail behind me and the horror of it shocked my senses.

I honestly don’t know how long I was ill. Depression is surely an illness, as dangerous and deadly as cancer. With early diagnosys and treatment, the prognosis for a long and healthy live is good. The longer the evil is left to fester and boil, the more unlikely your recovery. Looking back, I can only say that I suffered, mildly, through much of my teenage years. The events of my late teens and early twenties sunk me to a new low – one that I still have not fully recovered from. Only now, in the twilight of my twenties, do I see my previous path for what it was – a desperate struggle for survival.

It is difficult to look back and see how my past behavior and actions have effected those around me, like the wake of a passing ship. I have always told myself to look forward and not behind. The past is gone and cannot be changed and as such, regret has no place for me. Oh how naive I was.

What is regret if not a mechanism for us to grow? By depriving myself of thoughts of regret, even in reflection, I robbed myself of the experience of living. To live means to make mistakes, but to truely live life to its fullest is to learn from those mistakes and become a better person for them. Now I can look back with a peculiar sadness and know what regret truely is. I cannot change the past. It is past, slipped out of reach like sand in an hourglass. What I can do, however, is learn from it. For the first time in my adult memory I can smile and laugh without it merely being a mask used to hide the sadness within. I know that I cannot change what has happened, nor would I want to. They shaped the person I have become.

A little over a month ago I stood before a great fork in the road. Down one path, one that looked familiar to me, the way grew dark until I could no longer see the end in sight. Some tickle of memory told me that something was not right, but I could not place my finger on it. Looking down the alternate road, I saw a path thick and teeming with life. I could not see the end of that fork but it was warm and bright. In a single lucid moment of reflection, like a flash of insight I came to a startling revelation. All the while I had thought I was taking the road less traveled, I was actually following the same path, deeper and deeper, darker and darker, until I could no longer see any other way. I could either follow that familiar friend to my destruction or I could take the fork in the road, the real road less traveled, and begin the real journey.

The road I once traveled is now behind me. If I turn back I can still see it in the distance, but I have finally reached the road I was meant to walk. I don’t know how or why those around me managed to tolerate the dark cloud that frequently hid the sunshine from my path. I regret the difficulty and pain it must have caused them. The only thing I can do now, with each step forward, is be a better man, and listen to my fellow travelers. The road may be long, but it doesn’t have to be lonely.

Dena and I have been cautiously looking around for puppies lately. We had a bad experience with a dog from a pet store, so we looked at alternative sources. We weren’t concerned about getting a “purebred” pup. We just wanted a puppy with a clean slate, so to speak. Tabula Rasa, doggie-style. So our journey began.
We visited the local animal shelters, but had concerns about getting an older dog that has already learned habits that may be difficult if not impossible to reverse. We had already ruled out pet stores, so that left private sources. Ideally, we wanted a puppy from a farm. The hope with a farm pup is that it’s been around other animals and should behave well with our cats. We drove around the country watching for signs, checked the local paper, etc. Our luck broke Saturday night when Dena found an ad online advertising blue heeler/border collie mix puppies. If you’ve ever tried to get a puppy from a newspaper ad, you learn one thing: call quickly because they go quickly. An elderly man answered, and told me they had one left. He was gratious enough to entertain us that night. We jumped in the car and make the drive, about 70 miles, to the small down of Odell. I knew it was a good sign when he led us down to his barn. We walked through the barn, past several occupied horse stalls, and our host stopped at the last stall and opened the door. He pulled the door open and out ran this little pup, ignoring a wandering cat, and leapt into our arms. She stole our hearts right then and there.

We made the trek back home, making a few stops to find an open store that sold a leash, collar and other necessities. Sunday was another eventful day. We visited family and went to a parade celebrating the 150th anniversary of Rochelle, IL (my “home town”, I suppose). Our new pup, Dora, sat with us during the parade, watching the procession without a peep. She even seems to enjoy riding in the car. Best of all, she has a very non-aggressive approach with the cats. She sniffed at them a little, but has otherwise given them their space. My biggest fear was introducing a puppy into the house and alienating the cats, but it looks like those fears are proved baseless.

I’m rambling a bit now, but I have a sleeping puppy drooling on my arm and it’s proving to be a slight distraction. Here is a picture of Dora, taken just after we got her home Saturday night. I’ll eventually get a photo gallery setup for her. I suspect she’ll be very photogenic.

I’m finally starting to feel like things are getting back to normal. I don’t feel great, but well enough. It’s a day to day sort of thing, but at least each days gets a little better than the last.

I’ve picked up my pen and started writing again. I’ve given up on having submissions ready for the Van Helsing anthology or the ISFiC Writers Contest. As much as these interest me, the events of the past few months have killed my productivity and there isn’t enough time left for me to give it the attention it deserves. Instead I’m moving on to a new short story. I don’t have a title for the new story yet. It’s a science fiction piece dealing with the ultimate evolution of artificial intelligence. It feels good to work on something new. I have a few stories that have been sitting on my desk waiting for revisions for ages but for now I feel the need for something fresh.

Last week, when I was diagnosed with depression, the doctor also ordered some bloodwork to test my thyroid. He was concerned about my weight gain, which could have been a side-effect of an abnormally functioning thyroid (as well as the depression). My thyroid test came back okay, but there was a red flag. My blood sugar was higher than it should have been. I had a sweet breakfast that morning and I thought that must have been the cause of the high test results.

After an eight hour fast I had more blood drawn yesterday. It was, as always, a painful experience. I have always had deep veins in my arms and the most reliable way to get a good draw is to use one from my hand – using the butterfly needle. It makes the experience one to remember.

The nurse called with the results today; they weren’t what I was expecting. My blood sugar was lower than the first test, but not low enough. They’ve diagnosed (oh how I am beginning to dislike that word) me with borderline diabetes. It’s something that runs in my family but I never considered to be a possibility. There is a long, rough road ahead of me now. I’ve always been on the heavy side. It’s gotten out of hand over the past few years, though, and this medical issue are a direct result of that. The doctor has put me on a diet of 1,500 calories a day, with the goal of eventually losing 100 pounds.

I’m viewing this as an opportunity. I’m lucky that this was detected now and not in ten years when it could be full-blown diabetes. It’s reversible now. This requires a severe lifestyle change. The way I live and eat has to change. It’s not going to be easy. It’s going to be a challenge unlike any other I’ve faced but, with the support of family and friends, I know I can get get through it and I will be better for it.

A dark cloud shadows the steps of one in six adults throughout their lifetime, and that cloud is named depression. The cause of depression is varied. It could be the result of a chemical imbalance or trauma. Sometimes there’s no apparent reason. Whatever the cause, living with depression is an exercise in frustration. You can’t will it to go away. You think that it’ll go away on its own, but there are no guarentees. After nine solid months of living through this, I was finally diagnosed last friday.

Talking about depression this frankly may seem odd to some people but I am not the type of person to shy away from difficult questions or situations. For too many years I let things bottle up inside and the end result was me in a hospital bed being treated for ulcers at the ripe age of eighteen. Never again.

What exactly does it mean to be depressed? Well, it’s different for everyone, but the tell-tale sign for me was that I couldn’t focus or concentrate. I could sit at work and stare at my screen for hours and not get anything accomplished. There were days where I barely managed to write a single word. I tossed and turned at night, woke up at dawn, and was always tired. I was perpetually grumpy, liable to get angry over the slightest thing. I was emotionally unstable, apt to cry over complete nonsense. The worst part was that, try as I might, I couldn’t control it, or stop it. In fact, for quite a while, I didn’t even notice it. The weight of despair was on me, crushing me completely. Only at its worst did I finally see the extent of the damage.

The bottom line is that I was diagnosed with depression and put on medication to treat it. I also had bloodwork drawn to test for the possibility of a disorderly thyroid, which seemed to be enlarged to some degree. It doesn’t mean I’m fixed. It can take anywhere from one to eight weeks for the medicine to really take hold. Even after that, it could be years before I’m “cured”. It does mean that i took the first step towards getting better, seeking help, and it felt damn good.

I have seen the light. It flickers dimly in the distance but grows stronger the more I stare. It whispers promise of asylum and repose.

We finally hired another developer. We have needed another pair of hands for quite some time. For too long we’ve stretched the work between two people. I have worked too many hours, too many weekends, too many double and triple shifts. Long hours are fine for short stints of time. When they extend for months and years, it wears on one both physically and psychologically. This is the first step towards recovery.

Things won’t change overnight. Kurt, our new developer and my fellow moderator on the Ars Technica forums, needs to be trained. We’ve build some high performance, cutting edge systems and neglected to document most of it. Training Kurt really highlights the need to beginning documenting our existing systems and, going forward, documenting any new systems we build.

My workload won’t drop immediately. In fact, it will increase slightly in the short-term, as I spend time helping Kurt get up to speed. Even when Kurt is fully trained, he will be working in a different area technically. Ultimately his work will help us streamline some of the existing systems and build new systems that we need to generate revenue. Extra revenue will eventually mean that I will be able to hire someone to work with me. Short steps lead to progress. The end is nigh, but not here yet.