Aug. 4, 2007
I sat alone in the living room of my newly rented condo in Grand Junction, staring at the mound of unopened boxes and feeling no motivation to unpack. That dark place in my life had returned, and I felt I was simply treading water much of the time. I couldn’t identify any external factor for why I felt that way. Maybe it was just some bad code in my headspace.
I had just transferred to another VP job at the newly opened Grand Junction credit-union branch—the one I’d been hoping to get. The effects of the Great Recession were already being felt throughout the economy, with housing prices tanking nationwide and defaults on loans rapidly increasing. My attempts to get transferred closer to home had panned out just in time. From prior research, I knew my employer would weather the recession in better shape than many of its peers since they weren’t so heavily invested in subprime loans, but the company would still take a solid hit nonetheless.
Getting out of Denver was a relief. It had just been too big—too many people, too much traffic, too much hustle and bustle. Oddly, though I’d always disliked Pinehaven before I left, now I sort of wished I could go back. The problem, as with many small towns, was jobs that paid well. I could have settled for earning considerably less since I was now on the verge of what I’d consider wealthy, but I felt I should keep up a steady job for a time, at least. I wasn’t sure what I’d do with myself if I wasn’t working at all, and I didn’t want to find out, based on what little I recalled of my original situation. I doubted having that much extra time to sit and think would do my mood any good. And with the state of the economy, jobs were hard to come by.
My investments had all been converted to cash equivalents and treasury bonds in preparation for riding out the Great Recession storm. Even by October of 2008, over a year into the recession, it showed no signs of letting up. I had no idea when it would end, as I’d never been beyond that point, but sometime in 2009 was a safe bet. And I was pretty sure the real-estate market would completely crater in the next year or two, making a home purchase an attractive prospect.
Even after moving and landing this new position, I still wasn’t satisfied with my life. The daily grind was wearing me down, months and years passing while I was no happier than before. Much of the time, I felt numb at best, depressed at worst.
I’d left Mike and Laura behind in Denver. I hadn’t told them I was leaving until I was heading out since I knew they would have felt obligated to throw a going-away party or something, and I hadn’t been in the mood for third-wheel socializing. Mike had finally gotten accepted into the CBI after getting turned down at least once before. They were hoping he’d get stationed at the Grand Junction office once he completed his initial training, which would be cool as they’d be nearby again.
Ignoring the moving boxes for the time being, I stretched out on the couch and put my headphones on, setting my iPod to shuffle, amazed I’d gotten by for so long with cassette tapes and CDs. Die-hard audiophiles swore by vinyl, but I’d never seen the appeal. I would rather have thousands of songs at my fingertips with digital music, all available for a reasonable price with the click of a mouse. Gone were the days of buying a whole CD just to get that one good song.
Johnny Cash’s version of “Hurt” was currently playing, the song originally by Nine Inch Nails. I had to admit I much preferred this version. It fascinated me, simple and powerful with Cash’s smooth drawl and acoustic guitar. Moving and sad, it perfectly suited my bleak, reflective mood.
Something was missing in my life, and it was more than being single and alone. I still had a good relationship with my mother and my two best friends though they were busy with their family life, so I didn’t stay in touch as much as I used to. I felt a little guilt from my brusque announcement of leaving Denver. Laura and Mike were probably a little hurt because that had been kind of a dick move, but I’d make it up to them sometime.
However, I think the real reason I felt down was the loss of my drug—Tina was still operating on maintenance power, the counter at only 000002. It had ticked down a couple notches over the past few years. Soon, she would be just a memory. But mostly, I missed the high I had gotten from the power to change lives—the powerful rush of satisfaction at setting things right and seeing the way people’s lives were changed for the better, the feeling of being someone of consequence, not just another nobody. I hadn’t been able to use the device since senior year of high school, and that last time had been an alcohol-fueled, spur-of-the-moment decision to keep my friends and myself out of trouble with the law, not any real necessity. It was anticlimactic, and I often wished to have that one back.
The thought I’d never feel that high again hurt.