The Infinitely-Thin Tightrope

Mike didn't understand what was happening. That was nothing new.

What was different was that he didn't understand his own actions.

He hated Samantha. He despised her arrogance. He found her personality repugnant. Most of the time he interacted with her, he spent thinking he could never see her again and be happy about it.

Conversely, he loved his wife and young son. When apart, Mike often found himself wishing he were with them rather than doing whatever he was doing.

Mike loved his wife and hated Samantha yet he kept finding himself in Samantha's bed. He wanted to be away from Samantha as much as possible but found himself wondering what was the deal when she grew cold and distant.

Samantha had become a ghost walking in human skin. She was pale and jumpy. All the time. She was secretive about what she was doing and for whom.

Mike wondered how badly Kramer had scared her. Was she broken? Would she ever be the same?

...and, most of all, why did he care? He still despised her. She was a disgusting human being...but he also cared.

It was bizarre, having such conflict of feelings.

It was a warm summer's evening. The sun was just barely set, leaving a reddish-amber glow in the sky and casting a thin gray veil over everything.

Mike took a deep breath, absorbing the dryness, warmth, and fragrance of the newborn night as if it could replace the disturbing thoughts running through his head.

He flipped his key around in little circles by spinning his index finger inside the keyring.

It was a disturbingly-quiet walk across the parking lot. No sounds to drown out his thoughts. Just his footsteps on the pavement.

When he got to his car, he barely swung his keys a little too far and they spun off his finger. There was a little "ting" sound as they bounced off the door of his brand new Audi - a birthday gift from his wife - and an abbreviated jingle when they landed on the ground.

Mike sighed and looked closely at his door.

"For fuck's sake," he said. "Really?" The shiny new paint on his shiny new car was marred.

Mike sighed and started to bend down to get his keys but something raised his hackles and his spine stiffened. He narrowed his eyes and peered around without turning his head.

"God damn!" he shouted, leaning in to poke at the fresh ding on his door.

Mike spun around to face the other direction and raised his fists in the air, then repeated: "God damn!"

Quickly, he scanned the parking lot. There was nothing there but he couldn't shake the uneasy feeling.

Eventually, there was nothing to be done about it. He bent down for his keys and, when he stood up, nothing happened. He shrugged.

"Maybe I'm getting paranoid, too," he muttered.

Mike pushed the button to unlock his car. A satisfying "click" told him it was going from locked to unlocked.

He got in the car and started to drive. Everything was dead. It was a quick drive to the parkway, which was basically empty.

Mike decided to really open up his new car and see what she could do. He slammed down on the accelerator and pushed the speed...fifty, sixty, seventy miles an hour.

"Not too fast," said Kramer from the backseat. "You probably don't want to get pulled over, right now."

Mike wanted to jump out of his skin but maintained a semblance of outward calm. He cleared his throat. "Maybe I do," he said. His voice trembled, betraying his veneer of confidence. Nevertheless, he took his foot off the accelerator.

Kramer was barely visible in the rear-view mirror. He was dressed in black from head to toe. Unless you looked closely, you probably wouldn't even notice he was there. He chuckled softly.

"It might not go well, for either of us," said Kramer, light glinting off the rim of his glasses as they passed under a streetlamp. "Even if it did, there would be questions. They'd want to know where you were, recently. They'd want to check with your wife."

Mike pondered the not-so-hidden meaning for a moment, then set the cruise control. "Where are we going?" he asked.

"Just keep going, like you always do."

"Okay."

They drove in silence for a few minutes. Kramer made no effort to continue the conversation.

Eventually, as he was pulling off the Parkway and onto surface streets, Mike asked, "What do you want?"

"It's simple. Samantha knows something. I need to know it, too."

"What makes you so sure?"

"I've been watching you. All of you."

"What makes you think I'll help you."

"That's simple, too." Kramer's teeth shone, revealing a little sneer. "For one thing, I recorded some highlights of your most recent little sleepover with Samantha."

Mike's cheeks reddened. "And?" he asked.

"...and I think you two like each other. Underneath all the hate, that is."

"So?"

"So her life's in danger until whatever she knows is in the right hands."

"Your hands are the right hands?"

"I think they are," said Kramer. "What does Fred think?"

"Your car is dirty. Let's get it washed."

Decoupling from Direction: Named-Lines to Numeric Rays

Please excuse the "NPR host" manner of speech and overall low sound-quality in this video but it's a great refactoring session.

Choices, Choices, Choices

This is something I learned from the Heath brothers' very good book, Decisive:

If you are making a big decision and you only have two options to start, you're doing yourself a disservice. Start with at least three.

Even if the third one is terrible, you'll probably be happier than you would with two.

Plus, there's always a chance that the effort will yield a better option than you ever could have guessed at first.

The Ring

Yesterday I refactored some hokey index-based logic into a circular linked list. It spans two videos: My evening ride home and a late-night coding session.

Retroactive Post

On the 15th of January, I missed my first post. I'm setting the time of this post according to when it should have gone out so that it's in the right order and can be looked up but I'm not trying to hide that I missed my mark.

I'm not particularly ashamed of missing a minor goal like posting every day for a year. It's been a really difficult couple of months and even getting as close to that goal as I have was a real accomplishment.

It's important to not chastise yourself when you miss a goal. A goal is a target. Targets get missed. When you miss your target, in most contexts, you just try again. There are cases when that's not true - snipers, lunar landings, and the like - but they are few and far between.

For most of us, it's important to accept that failure is possible and even likely. Instead of lamenting it, we can take it as an opportunity to revise our approach or reinvent our goals.

It's Going to Be what It's Going to Be

Last week, I had a vision of how I was going to design the networking part of the game I'm writing. This morning, I was all set to execute on that vision.

As I was reviewing the code, before the change, I discovered some things that needed to change. So, instead of doing what I planned, I did what was right. I cleaned up the code.

In the course of my cleanup, I uncovered a better design for the networking part of the game.

There's an important lesson, here. The forces acting on your code are going to be what they are going to be. So let the code be what the forces want it to be.

It probably won't cost you anything and, every once in a while, it grants you an insight of incalculable value.

Literally.

The value of a little discovery like that cannot be calculated because you can't tell how much its absence would have cost you.

Experience, however, allows me to estimate the cost as "a lot".

♪ Who Can Make the Bugs Shine? ♪

I did this hunched over in bed in a hotel room trying not to wake up my kids...