Here's the Post I wrote but didn't publish, on the day I collapsed:

Maybe my lifelong friend Skoge is right? I am a drunk, I accept that it is my addiction, been one since I was twenty one. I've had a couple wonderful vacations from it, one year in Teton Valley a decade ago, and for a month a while back.

But now that I have no control over it, it raises the question? Could ending this addiction really bring me life and the love of someone, or would it be a total waste of time.

I could have been a great successful wealthy man. I had the genes and the brain cells, I knew it.

There was a time playing Babe Ruth baseball back in the mid sixties as I was turning Vietnam war ready, when our team captain enlisted. He went on to become something, I went on to become fucked up, for a while.

As the seventies and eighties evolved I became educated, and was the best badass IBM mini computer programmer in the SF Bay Area and beyond. I wrote two software versions for the largest shipping company on the west coast, among many others.

And then that darned IBM PC came along in 1981. Through the eighties I had a few companies and developed a lot of software, I was a star for a while.

Now I'm here, a pretty much shattered man after all those years. I've been flat broke twice, since. I managed to build up a stash in Idaho, but it's mostly gone now.

I've had an amazing life and I am proud of most of it. To land in a small rental in Southern Tennessee, blows my mind, and I accept it.