So I feel the need to come up with some sort of explanation for my 5 month absence from on-line journaling. I mean, I can�t just suddenly pop back up in the middle of November and start writing again when it�s been since the middle of June when anyone last heard a peep out of me, right? Right?

Well, let�s just say it was �really bad stuff.� Maybe one day I�ll come up with some weird retroactive �Lost Days� journal project, making all sorts of cheesy references to mysterious events I never fully explain� But don�t count on it, that sounds like a lot of work.

Lets just say it started building in the spring and by June had detonated. Things appeared perfectly normal on the surface for some time in my life, job, recreational activities, social functions, yada yada yada. There was no real way of knowing anything was going on. I had stopped writing journal entries, or for that matter, any contributions AT ALL to my once beloved website, allowing it to die an ignoble death in the collective consciences of all my loyal readers (all 4 or 5 of you!)

But, I re-iterate, things were still progressing �normally� from Mid June through early August: I had a �solstice celebration� with various Malcontents and Ne�er-do-wells at Whidbey Island, I got rip-roaring drunk for the 4th, climbed Mt Whitney with Tyler and Angie and Tyler�s dad Steve (a great trip including Death valley and an evening in Vegas), went to the Seafair hydro races, and climbed Mt Adams with Tyler. But despite all this, there were bad, bad things happening. Here is a blurb about the Whitney trip I wrote last July:

I can say, with all honesty, that the trip was a fantastic time, and I have rarely in my life had 4 more fun, event-filled days. Of course, a disturbing paradox exists within my soul, and I found the emptiness in my soul to be strangely exacerbated by the good time I was having.

Mt Whitney isn�t even really a climb, but rather there is literally a trail all the way to the top of the mostly snow and completely glacier-free massif (a stark contrast to the peaks we have here!). Nonetheless, the Park Service contends that the success fate for Whitney ascentionists is a scant 33%, given the altitude and length of the hike (a 22 mile round-trip from the 8360� trailhead to the 14,497� summit and back, with a climber�s camp at 12,000�). Angie, with no previous backpacking experience and a contention that she had �never really done anything hard like this� was hoping to achieve what her father had twice failed at, whereas I have great confidence in my abilities on the trail and on in the mountains. Angie performed quite well, but since Tyler and his dad wisely chose to stay with her, I found myself hiking alone much of the way� except for the dozens of people in other parties also on their way up.

Arriving at camp more than an hour ahead of the rest of my party, I secured us some good sites in the ecological disaster of a camp along a pretty alpine lake, feeling the �hangover� which comes from being at 12,000� unacclimitized. I had chosen to �bivy� at camp � that is, no tent, but instead a gore-tex bivy sack around my sleeping bag, and enjoyed a better night�s sleep than I can remember in a LONG time sleeping out under the stars. We got up the next morning just before dawn, and started up the trail to the summit with the sun rising behind us.

I quickly left the rest of my group behind me, spurred on by my inner torment, and realized I was the first person up the mountain that day. I felt at ease, like I Belonged there, like this was the only place in the world that would accept me, but strangely hollow. I made great time to the top, kicked back, started munching on my snacks, and relaxed while I waited for everyone else. I was surprised with how little I felt the altitude. I signed the summit register �Jake Reeder, Wallingford, Seattle, WA, 98103. Representing Cascade climbers, we grow them better up there! Happy b-day MOM!� The 17th was my mom�s b-day.

The headache hit on the way down, of course, after I arrogantly refused an Excedrin from Tyler�s dad at the summit: �Nope, I feel great!� We hiked all the way out , stopping at camp to gather our gear, and it was a very long day.

Our flight out of Vegas on Monday @ 4:00 was full, and since we were standby, we were bumped to the 11:00 flight, giving us 7 hours to kill on the Strip. My last visit to Vegas, I came out modestly ahead, thanks to 11 and 22 on the roulette table and my NFL betting prowess. This time, good roulette luck didn�t happen, as I donated $60 to the Alladin, but we did hit a buffet and the roller coaster at the New York.

I got home at 3 am Tuesday morning, and called the office to leave voice mails saying I would be in at 10, and I just drove straight to the project site and resumed by dreary work life.

August 18th signaled the beginning of the second detonation, and over the next few days the shit hit the fan. August 21st I was canned by the Supreme Asshole Lloyd from my �beloved� gainful employment at OTAK, and by Sept. 10th I was a complete mess. I officially lost my mind Sept. 18th. Sept. 22nd, the Autumnal equinox and the end of my Summer of Discontent, was also Fremont Oktoberfest, and I drank a lot of beer. Since then it has been mainly an unemployed, aimless Purgatory. That oughta bring you up to date.