Cold and bright

I spent the morning working on a proposal. I have written and submitted a total of seven proposals since November. Three were bids for existing requirements. Four were entirely of my own invention. Heavily researched and thought-out. Each proposal is 25 pages or so. Single spaced. I've had many meetings with the potential sponsors. International phone calls. In this time frame, I've also fought false accusations from my former company, completed registration for the business, and written and submitted two academic papers.

Two proposals have been actively shot-down by B, my previous boss. In the first instance, B verbally implied that I had been guilty of wrongdoing (referring to our Dutch friend's slander). The client didn't believe him, but he was made to understand that work with me would be perceived as "undesirable". So he pulled out. In the second instance, B represented that the Command had a strong preference that the client's work exclude any contractors. Any particular reason or history of this? Nope. Just being a bastard.

I will keep trying as long as I can make the money in the bank-account stretch. But then I will have to look for another job. Something that lets me live on more than my ideals and vision. I don't think I'll stay in the U.S. if this happens. I'll sell my shit or put it in storage. I'll go back to Africa.

Eve and I walked into the frigid winter to get some PT in at the gym. then I returned, showered, and took the train to Chinatown where I met R for sushi. R is one of those perfectly acceptable men I've attempted to date and for whom I feel nothing.

Lee called me this afternoon and we spoke for a few minutes. I don't recognize her. God, I wish I did. She spoke in second-hand euphemisms from every treatment facility she's ever been in. I remembered a decade ago when I used to drive my shitty little Mazda Miata with the busted-up hood into the industrial North-West corner of the Salt Lake Valley. She and Jane were at a youth treatment facility there. I would check Lee out for a drive. We would listen to the radio. I would crank it up loud and the hot Utah sun would beat down on us.  I would buy us sodas at a gas station. And then I would drive her back. She was only fourteen then. And so fraught with pain and confusion. I ached to reach into my soul and give her some piece that would patch hers.
Today, I don't recognize this person. And there is not much of a soul here left to give her.
I listened as Lee rummaged around in this borrowed bag of jargon and tried to pass off the half-baked thoughts as her own, offering them to me one at a time, testing to see if anything met with my approval.
"I have to spend some time working on me...I realize that I have to invest in the relationships that I've broken...it was really confronting to me to hear how much I need to build up trust..."
At least she's safe. She showed up at the treatment facility and she's safe.

Every day I find myself asking whether there has been any value in my sticking around these last few years. Is this a life worth living? The answer is clear. It has been clear for a long time. I died on August 16, 2011 when I said goodbye. And I didn't have the good sense to stop breathing.