“Hey, foxy, how are you doing?”

Not well.

I’ve had so many blog posts that I’ve wanted to write, and even started drafting a few of them. I have an Area in Things with article ideas and they already number over 40. However, before I finish and post any of those, I wanted to give a small personal update on how this year has actually gone.

Hope springs eternal, at first

The first quarter of the year was marred by a variety of personal challenges. I had a rather bad flare-up of my sleep disorder, amongst other untold things. My older cat, Mr Gaz, injured his arm jumping off the top of his cat tree and required the assistance of a vet.

It wasn’t all bad, though. I was able to find a reasonably priced replacement for our aging car. We are all quite happy with it. I had my finances in order just enough to pay cash for it, at the end of March. No car loan here!

The terrible, no good, very bad, second quarter

On the first week of April, I had a double-whammy of horrors. My manager at IBM called me for a one-on-one. We usually had these sorts of meetings on a specific cadence. This was not anywhere near where I would have expected one.

This was not our regular sync-up.

I was laid off as part of the secondary IBM “resource action” in April. I cannot comment further on this matter, other than to say my direct and second line managers did what they could to lessen the blow. I appreciate them greatly.

Initially, I faced the lay off with high spirits, as the job market looked rosy and I had a number of recruiters interested in my profile. Unfortunately, for one reason or another, each one dropped off. Many of them had the positions themselves pulled, so I wouldn’t have had a future there anyway – perhaps a blessing in disguise.

Two hours after that meeting with my manager, I took my grandmother to a doctor’s appointment where she was formally diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease. Needless to say, that was the single darkest day I’ve lived since May 2020, when my mum was diagnosed with cancer. Thankfully, she is still in full remission.

Meanwhile, on Father’s Day, Tulsa saw one of the worst weather systems we have seen in decades, with winds reaching over 100+ MPH. This disaster left our infrastructure in shambles and coincided with oppressive 100+ºF (40+ºC) heat. We had to evacuate 80 miles westward, to an extended stay hotel in Edmond, Okla., until the power was restored – a full eight days later.

We were blessed that the tree that came down next to us landed exactly 3cm from the window. Otherwise, I would likely be writing this article with shards of glass in my body, if at all. The office UPS, network devices, and refrigerator contents fared far less well.

Rounding third – they’re out!

I spent the majority of July cleaning up the aftermath of the storm, including replacing some of the damaged equipment. I had just about straightened everything out when, on the 23rd, the building’s air conditioning system failed. This was, of course, during yet another heat wave – one that set records across the country, including here in Tulsa.

The part needed to fix the system was on back order, and we tried to supplement with our portable air conditioners, to no avail. Suffocating in the oppressive heat and humidity – I personally measured a reading of 93ºF (34ºC) in my spare room – we began to pack for a hotel.

We did not make it to that hotel reservation.

Because my mum had a heat stroke.

One trip to the emergency department later – one that was only 60% covered by insurance (thanks, Blue Cross) – we set up shop in the hotel. We planned a three night stay.

Thirteen days later. Thirteen miserable, expensive, non-productive days, spent shuttling between the hotel and the flat to flip switches, report failures, and replace more parts. Finally, the air conditioner was fixed in our building.

I returned to a missed certified mail delivery. When I was able to make it to the post office to pick it up, I found it was a letter from my long-time doctor’s office. It stated that I was no longer a patient of his because I “refused medical advice”. I have no idea what that means; as a diabetic, I always follow medical advice when it is presented to me. As of the time of this writing, I still have not heard any response as to what they meant nor how I can resolve this matter.

Then, in mid-September, I was informed that Adélie Linux – the project I co-founded and poured years of my life into – would be shuttering if certain goals could not be met. They felt it was no longer feasible for it to continue on the trajectory it was on.

It was an exceptionally hard decision to make, but I searched my heart and could not in good conscience let it go. I have returned to full-time (and unpaid) development of Adélie Linux, and have done my best to remove as many roadblocks as possible in the process.

“It’s hard to play a good fourth quarter when the others went so badly.”

In early October, my mum was assaulted by an adolescent with a lack of direction. At the same time, I was given a lead on a very promising role, only for it to evaporate as well.

I do have a few prospects in my job search, but am still actively searching. If you are aware of someone looking for a highly motivated software engineer who is knowledgeable about many fields, please feel free to reach out. My CV and social contacts are on my personal Web site.

tl;dr

For all intents and purposes, none of what I wrote at the start of the year came to fruition.

The only things that keep me going at this point are my mum, my cats, my best friend Horst, and watching Bluey. Something about Bluey touches my soul in a way that I cannot describe. Honestly, in many ways, she reminds me of a younger me, and gives me hope that maybe I can find that in myself again some day.

And now I would like to leave you with a quote from a song that I’ve heard a lot this year.

I’m far from lonely, and that’s all that I’ve got.

The Pandemic Nightmare

Note: Typically, I don’t publish or discuss my dreams publicly. This one, however, I felt compelled to share.

I walk through the aisles of the Target store in Tulsa. (For those who live locally: 71st and highway 169.) It’s 11:35 AM, March 20, 2030 according to my iPhone. I push the cart down towards the pharmacy section. I put a bottle of Tylenol in the cart for my mother, who is at home. Then, I amble towards the counter.

The line is extremely long. There are about a dozen people in front of me. Some have carts, some do not. One is holding a basket with a vitamin bottle in it. The people filing out are repositioning their N95 masks. The line moves at a decent pace, about one person per minute.

Finally, it is my turn. A short Cherokee woman, about 5’4″ with long brown hair with blonde highlights, asks in a small voice, “what will it be for you today?”

She shows me a small printed menu. Chamomile, lavender, peppermint, honey, rainforest, spring blossom, … ah. There it is. Cinnamon bread.

“Cinnamon bread”, I politely respond.

“30 seconds for 4.00$, 60 seconds for 8.00$, or we can do the premium package for 10$.”

“Premium package?” I ask, being quite unfamiliar with more options than just duration.

“The scent will surround your whole body, instead of just being a scratch and sniff card,” she replied. “It’s an aerosol spray. You can turn around in the chamber for the entire duration, which will be 60 seconds.”

A full 60 seconds in the chamber… with the scent around my entire body, not just in a scratch and sniff card? How exciting!

“I would love the premium package. Can I still tap and pay with Apple Pay?”

“Yes, ma’am. Of course you can. Just tap, then follow me.”

I tap my iPhone against the reader, then walk behind the counter, leaving my cart in the waiting area. She leads me to a small chamber made of clear plexiglass. It’s just big enough for someone of my size. Next to it, there is a chamber that would be more suited for heavier set people.

She opens a small hatch and I stand inside. She closes the door. I take my N95 off. The smell rains down from the ceiling. I twirl around, closing my eyes and feeling warm and happy. I almost begin to dance, my arms flailing in slow, rhythmic movements as I breathe in deeply.

There is a slight ding. The scent stops. I walk out and take a quick gasp before putting the N95 back on. The inside of a Target store still smells how I remember it.

I look at the woman and quickly apologise. “I’m sorry, I know the mask has to go on as soon as the door is open, I just…”

“Don’t worry about it. Most of my customers enjoy the smell of the store, some more than the scent chamber itself.”

Just then, I see two uniformed Tulsa Police officers walking up the main aisle. I quickly run to my cart.

“Everyone hold it,” one of the two officers shouts. He’s a stern looking man in his 40s with visible stubble and a head suit covering his hair. His partner is younger, with thick glasses and a machine gun carried on his back.

The officer looks at the woman behind the counter. “Picking up a prescription, sir?” she asks, timidly.

“Ma’am, we have reason to believe you are running an illegal scent shop here. You know President Cornyn outlawed the sense of smell in 2029.”

“This is a pharmacy counter. That’s all!”

“Why is everyone fidgeting with their masks, then?”

I try to push my cart into the main aisle, towards the grocery section. The younger officer sees this, and immediately takes out his machine gun and points it at me. “HALT!”, he shouts.

“I just wanted to finish my grocery shopping,” I say in a breaking voice as I begin to cry. I reflexively put one hand to my head, desiring to survive this encounter. I use the other to hit the Emergency button on my iPhone, to clear all data from the past 10 minutes so they can’t use it to determine what I was doing.

“What were you doing at this counter?”

“I was… asking where the minerals and supplements were.”

“Then why were you going the opposite direction? Alright, hold it ma’am, you’re under arrest for suspicion of smelling!”


I awaken to my alarm. The sun is peeking out through the blinds of my window, and I can faintly hear Mum watching TV in her room.

This pandemic cannot end soon enough.