1.1 Intermission: The Present

[This is a real-time entry: Chapter 2 will continue shortly]

"So the formula for the sigmoid function is...one over, one plus E to the negative linear regression...kind of weird, right?"

It's 6 am and someone is knocking on the door. I get up and stuff a can of spray paint into my jacket, realizing I've fallen-asleep to a lecture on Machine Learning.

I open the door for Mark, and Amanda is with him. I don't recognize her as they come in, because she's all dressed-up and wearing black lipstick. Mark apologizes for waking me and walks-off toward his room. I lock the door and turn to head back to the couch, but Amanda stops me, doing her best to fix my attention.

"Gary, will you keep an eye on him?"

"Uh, sure kid, no problem..." I manage to mumble, still trying to get my bearings.

"He's not okay - I'm afraid he's going to hurt himself." Her black lipstick is confusing me a bit. The math-dense lecture still running on my phone isn't helping.

"What? Nah, c'mon - he's fine, man." I'm not sure if I believe it, nor if I sound convincing.

I head back to the couch and rewind the lecture a bit, then curl-up in my parka hoping to get a few more hours of sleep before I go back to the code I've been working on.

"...vectorization, and matrix algebra, and all that stuff - don't worry about that right now, but one more time, the logistic regression function, that gives you that S curve on a graph, is: One over one plus E, to the negative Theta transpose X..."

This is way beyond me, but I find that repeated exposure to difficult topics - even while sleeping - can be fruitful. 

But after a few minutes it's clear I'm getting no more sleep today. Amanda is going back-and-forth between Mark's room and something outside - I think I hear an engine running out there - looking concerned.

From Nicky's room next door, deep bass notes rumble - last night's party seems to be ongoing. Was there some sort of commotion there a few hours ago, as I dozed-off? Yelling, banging - a confrontation - did I overhear Richie and Mark arguing? It's unclear. Perhaps it was a dream.

Dream, nightmare . . . Las Vegas. What's the difference?

I pour leftover coffee, room temperature, and decide to drink it outside on the porch. I take the spray paint ("Artist's Mace", I call it) along - just in case, you know.

Outside, Amanda is talking to someone in a black truck I've never seen before. She goes inside the house for a few minutes, then comes back out looking very upset. 

"I was going to take his guns." She fixes me with a serious look for a moment, then gets in the truck and leaves.

I start packing my backpack: Sketchbook, peanut butter sandwich, my dead wife's canteen full of coffee . . . just in case I have to leave in a hurry. Again.

Do I have a phone interview today? Yes, I think I do. Better charge my phone.

That black lipstick was really - really - distracting. Doesn't suit her.

[Next: "Hold Me"]

1. The Shed, Part One

"Get the f**k out of my face"

Is he talking to me? There are several dogs here, pestering Richie as he cleans tools. Perhaps he's talking to one of them?

He drops wrenches and sockets into a bucket, one at a time, rubbing them with a rag apparently soaked in gasoline. I try to read his face for a clue, but it's the same screwed-up, hostile expression as always; No insight there. He's always looked to me a bit like an angry Alfred E. Neuman. Perhaps that's a subconscious association: Richie -> Richie Rich -> comic book characters -> Alfred E. Neuman.

"Who -- me?" I ask, glancing at the dogs.
"Yes, you - get the f**k out of my face. Go!"

Well, that's clear enough I suppose. I can't help but laugh a bit as I walk away; It's certainly not the sort of interaction I'm used to, but I've been out of my element since I arrived here in Vegas. I'm still trying to find my sea -- err, actually -- desert legs. Maybe this sort of crap is common around here.

Still confused, I walk back to the shed that I've gradually been turning into an art studio. I was busy arranging to ship a painting (a sale, at last!) when my sister had sent me a text message. 

Hey, is Richie home? I need to talk to him if he is. Can you have him call me at 702-555-1212?

This is Nicki's house, and I've been here for about a month. She works at a doctor's office and sometimes needs an errand during the day, so I'm used to being called-on occasionally. But sometimes she's a little bit, uh - off. I walked over to Richie and told him, but he has no phone. I dialed the number, on speakerphone, but it went directly to voicemail. Like I say - a little off.

"Why does it go to a voicemail?" He asked.
"Uh - well, I don't know. This is the number she gave." It's the best answer I can muster.
"Why would she give you a voicemail phone number?"

Unsure how to navigate this circular and unproductive line of questioning, I tried to confirm the number - no easy task with my dying phone held-together with tape covering half the screen. But it's correct, all right. 

"Well, that's the right number. I have no idea. Want to try again?"
"Get the f**k out of my face."

0. Preface

Meta: This is the live, continuing journal of my experiences since the sudden death of my wife. 

In the year since that terrible night, I've seen the dissolution of my personal and professional life, and awakenings both rude and sublime. I've been forced to re-evaluate my most cherished delusions, undertaken strict sobriety, and been irrevocably changed.

The process is ongoing, and I still have no clear vision of where it will lead. I'll be starting in the recent past just to catch you up, but will be mixing-in current events as I go until the story is concurrent with life.

It is all true, real, raw, and happening right now. I'm inviting you to follow along as it unfolds, in real-time.

Warning: Some content is likely to be disturbing and of an "adult" nature. Mature audiences recommended.

Outline:

1. The Shed, Part One
2. Hold Me
3. A Solo Skeleton
4. The Art Squad
5. The Book Store and The Bus
6. Welcome to Vegas, A**hole
7. The Dom
8. Living on Arts and Berries
9. Ezekial
10. The Shed, Part Two
11. Roomies