I can't begin to explain how bad of shape I was in when I escaped Seattle and found myself here in Austin.
I think even most people who think they have an idea, and even have reason to, could multiply what's in their head by five or even ten and be a lot closer to how things were.
There are hints here and there, I know such as on Offered without apology, but I don't even know I'll ever tell the extent of how crappy I felt about myself and my life and the ins-and-outs of it.
I know that whenever I start to think I have my shit together and finish Lakeside, which is a task I owe the people who helped make it, I collapse into the trauma of that time, and even the realization that the story itself was probably a very early unconscious cry for help in itself.
Thinking that it's been three years since I got here makes me ever more homesick for a visit. I haven't seen my family or friends there or eaten at Pagliacci or a dozen other things I could go on about.
I've missed so much of my nephew Julian's life. I'd already been, because of circumstances, at the time I left and now he's, well, so far, and so big...
Ultimately, though, I can't express how much better it is for me here.
Honestly, the Alamo Drafthouse could have been enough, if that'd been all, but of course there's so very much more than that.
There's the beautiful Kimberly Rae who makes me feel luckier than I've ever felt every single day, and our son Conan is the greatest living human!
And living somewhere that the sun shines - even if this year it seems to shine too much for most - and where people really do smile and talk to you.
I can't begin to thank my friends Jo and Robert for making this opportunity possible, and quite probably saving my life, and to Kim and Conan it worthwhile to have had it saved. You're all more important to me than I could ever explain, and more than I'm often very good at showing... stupid reserved Northwestern ways still, I guess.