22 November, always, even more than a decade after my Executive Director tenure ended and almost a decade since I resigned from the board, is an anniversary – a morbid one, certainly, but more packed with personal meaning than Thanksgiving ever could be.

How much of myself did I give to that gig? (too much and not enough) How much did I gain? (I found my way to writing, fully, through it – so there's that – but I also gained one (maybe two) very deep, very profund regret(s), forks in the road etc) How much did I lose? (everything – but not everything I lost was worth keeping, far from it) ...

I suppose I'm thinking of it in more extistential detail this year than normal: we signed our wills yesterday and I realized that, outside of my wife's family and one very important exception, I have no one to pass anything on to. Being the end of the line in which your last name isn't your own is simultaneously rewarding and confusing.

Current solution: live what I've got while I can and let the rest of it fall where it may. I've pretty much got the "staying alive" part down – soon with cybernetic enhancement! – now I have to figure out what living entails. Been trying to figure that one out for years. So far, no luck – but if I do stumble upon my answer, you'll be the first to know.

Also: that partially completed thing to my left was supposed to be a dog but my 4'33" ran out before I could fur it out.

the morning's attendance card, a sketchy me pondering existential things while a partially-drawn dogchild looks on.