It’s late on a Tuesday evening, and I’m coming up on a milestone. Call this a quarter-life crisis. AD 2011 has seen some pretty rough bumps for me, and it’s looking back at a rough, bumpy road.

Maybe it’s the pensive piano music that’s been looping. I can’t shake the feeling that I was meant for something better. Typing this makes it look like unwarranted self-importance, my philosophy has always been one that free will makes your destiny. It looks like I’ve used free will for some terrible choices, and now, my childhood is over. My extended childhood is over. My first vestiges of adulthood have ended with less than optimal results.

The property managers didn’t want to keep me.

The bank lauded and lauded what I did, and then cast me off like so much red ink. I’ll take my bailout back.

I’ve crash-landed and clambered up a hill, and am prostituting my talents in the realm of used car sales – it’s a living, but Gabriel Yared’s piano keeps telling me there should be more, now that it’s almost halfway through.

Ugh. I need to do something about all of this, because I’m only growing closer to my third decade and all I’ve got to tell about it are lurid ecstasy tales and that macro I once wrote.