And I’m crazy. Please forgive me.

I want to be Matt Welch when I’m 33. Hell, I want to be Matt Welch now. I think I have a plane to catch…

I’ve changed my biography page. I removed the pretentious crap about my name, threw up a few basic details about myself, and a lot about my cars. I’m still looking for the right place to put the Troparion.

I leave these little notes to let you know I care.

Well, it had to happen… As soon as people started visiting my site, my hosting decided to die.

The Cold Fusion server on my (shared) host went down for about two hours this morning. This rendered my dynamic pages and database inaccessible—and my site, therefore, peculiarly contentless.

But if you’re reading this, obviously things are once again working. Thank you for visiting. I’ll see you soon, in real life or on [css-d].

Right now I want to work on the CHC project like I want a hole in my head. That is—I don’t. Just to clarify, in case any of you were worrying about my mental state.

AAAAHHH… So I’m doing what I shouldn’t. Procrastinating. Putting off the task. It’s just so messy. It’s just so… complicated. It really, really is. I have built multi-million dollar ecommerce systems solo, and those systems were easier than this bit of accounting integration work. Why, you ask? Wasn’t the ecommerce engine much, much larger in scope? Yes, I say. But the ecommerce engine was my system. And as such, it made sense. The database was well-designed, because it was designed by me. I’m not saying I’m a db design expert; well, no wait, yes, I am. I take this title because, for instance, in my systems it is easy to cross-reference client records across tables. In the FoxPro database that I have to read for CHC’s billing information, it’s not just not easy—it is not consistently possible! And it’s definitely not possible with only SQL! You must parse data with a scripting language (like Cold Fusion, which I use, or Visual Basic, which the scheduling system is written in) and pump it into a new query to get records back!

None of you have any idea what I’m talking about. That’s okay; I’m venting.

I didn’t invent the rules of normalization!

I’m Not Done

I just started writing a long winded explanation regarding a particular instance of technical stupidity in MAS90. I’m going to hold off on finishing that, because it’s something that requires more time to explain, and, hah hah, it’s definitely of limited interest to my audience. Believe me, though, when I say it’s coming! For now I better wind myself down and continue with my work.

Umm… yeah… where was I?

Some design modifications today. Color-coded sections: Blue for most articles, grey for business, a dark turquoise for biography. I have some colors in reserve for future divisions.

I know I’ve been somewhat, ahh, absent, this past week. I’m still working to complete the Community Home Care project. I won’t really be resuming my social life until it’s done—hopefully that’ll be before this weekend.

Not that I have the money to do anything, even if I did have the time. Not a dollar do I have to my name. I barely have enough gas in my car to get to my next meeting at CHC—even that money was borrowed. I don’t want to borrow any more money from anyone.

Today I had to call Chrysler Financial and tell them to reschedule the car payment I set up for tomorrow. They said no, too bad, I need to call my bank and tell them to stop payment on the check. They claimed they couldn’t do anything from their end. So I did. This means a $20 fee from Wells Fargo, where my account is already overdrawn, and who-knows-what-fee from Chrysler Financial.

So I wouldn’t be in a good mood, even if I did have the time, and I did have some small amount of money to play with.

Things aren’t looking dark, though. And I’m not complaining. Someone (*cough* *coRobertugh*) might point at me and say, See, you shouldn’t have taken that trip—you could not afford it. I have no regrets, in fact quite the opposite. The CHC check should have come sooner—and would have if their software vendor had been on the ball. Also… I’ve preliminarily calculated my taxes, and I should be getting a refund. A fifteen-hundred dollar refund. I’m just waiting for my W2 from CPS, which never seems to come. So there’s more than a light at the end of the tunnel; it seems like there’s a disco ball and strobes, with thumping music at the end of the tunnel.

I just hope my car doesn’t get repo’d before I get there.

The Bio section has been added, with a lot of crap about my name, and a photo that has undergone manipulation in order to correct red eye. Enjoy!

If I didn’t tell you when I met you, I would like to put you in my work. The funny things you say, the mean, sarcastic comment you made at my expense, the way that last conversation on the phone made me so sad. All of it, I might want to put here.

Maybe you have a problem with that. Maybe it’s a concern for privacy, or paranoia. Maybe it’s regret. Maybe it’s simply personal preference. Talk to me about it.

Perhaps I will excise you from my life and my creative output—but I repeat myself, as Mark Twain once said. Perhaps I will tell you that I will make a conscientous effort to avoid any reference that could be traced back to you, by friends or by strangers. Perhaps I will refuse.

If I refuse, it’s because I believe such a policy is completely inconsistent with the philosophy of art. I believe such a policy is completely inconsistent with the philosophy of truth. It is a betrayal of my audience, because those who take the time to read what I write deserve nothing less than complete honesty from me. They deserve nothing less than someone willing to BREAK THEMSELVES APART for the sake of their art.

But maybe I will acquiesce.

Maybe I will acquiesce because the vehemence of your demands has proven to me that you are not someone worth sharing, anyway; that the tale of your life deserves to die with you, or before.

Or perhaps I will acquiesce because I am afraid of being too rigid. God says, “It is mercy I desire, not sacrifice,” and this lesson is not lost on me. Compassion is part of justice, not opposed to it.

Or maybe it could be because you’ve cried, and I don’t want to cause you any more pain than I already have. It has never been my intention to hurt you. It has only been an all too common side effect of my actions.

But make no mistake. Fuck you for it. Fuck you for even forcing the subject. You truly make me physically ill; I feel sick every time I think about my work being crippled for your whimsy.

I will not ask anyone I meet if I can write about them. We do not live completely voluntary lives. We can not rescind fighting or falling in love, laughing or crying together. I will live my life as if everything I have ever said or done will be known by all, because at the end of time it will be. I will expect you to live your life the same.

(This policy will be archived in the About section of this website.)

Some archives are up. And the site is now database-driven.