I get angry, and I will say
That the day is in my sight
When I take a bow and say goodnight.

Violent Femmes, "Add It Up"
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I'm not the smartest person here at this company, and my value comes from a combination of what meager intelligence I have combined with manic obsession not to go home or even go to sleep unless I leave at a viable stopping point in the development process. I don't like stopping in the middle of a paragraph, so to speak.

So this whole furlough experience has taken away the core of my career identity. I'm not truly the worker that Ventura County has created, and it bothers me to have to live in this skin.

Sixteen more days. I used to ask that if it's okay for them to let me out at 12:01am, why not just let me out at 11:30pm? Why not 10pm? I realize now that the line itself is arbitrary and has nothing to do with rehabilitation or punishment. The punishment was whatever length of time it took for me to concede that Ventura County won, that they had succeeded in turning my arrogance into humility, that they had succeeded in showing me that whatever it was that I was doing before, I can't do it anymore. Period.

So that could have theoretically occurred this week when I was no longer fighting 30 mph winds while I tried to stay upright on my bike on my way to my bus stop. I gave thanks for the meteorological reprieve. Imagine, worrying late at night at the first sound of raindrops, or the first howl of wind. Imagine finding solace in the simplicity of a gorgeous day.

All the time that follows that turning point, no matter how long it took to get there in the first place, is arbitrary. The turning point sets you up for the long road of anticipation, and it's during this time when the seconds tick by at a glacial pace.