I'm tired today. Just tired - a genuine, deep weariness I can feel in my eyes and my chest that comes from days and days of pissing rain, stress, and poor sleep. I have water in my basement and a list of other items I'm avoiding dealing with. Home ownership makes you hate the rain. It feeds the dandilions and drips down through your plaster walls and your old window sills.

The rain gets into the hatch on my car (item 3 on my list of things I'm avoiding dealing with) and sloshes around and makes it smell musty and old. I think my wires and/or plugs and/or distributor cap need to be replaced because sometimes it doesn't start in the rain. I'm about 2000 miles over for an oil change.

I've got a baby now. Holden. He was exactly five months old on may 12th at 12:12pm. Babies don't smile like we do - they smile out of genuine mirth and joy. When he laughs it's because he's happy, not because he's being polite. When he looks delighted to see you it's because he is delighted.

He's a big boy. He can roll over from front to back and back to front. He can jump in his jumper so hard that the speakers fall off the top of the television. He's got wet little hands that grab at everything. He looks just like me.

I got promoted at work. Twice. My income is almost double what it was two years ago. I have an office with Space Invaders and robots graphics stuck to the walls. I spent some time and measured it to make sure my Space Invaders setup was historically accurate.

This past weekend I was driving and wondering why I don't want to write the next great American novel anymore. I don't even want to write this, really. I don't want to write plans for increasing the density of our servers and I don't want to write contrite emails about the balls I've dropped.