I shaved, showered, brushed my teeth, dried off, trimmed my beard, brushed my hair... in the middle of getting ready for job-hunting Kevin called for directions. Cool... saved me from making a call later that day. Swiped deodorant, sprayed cologne, put on black Dockers and a black t-shirt underneath a black, blue, and white sweater... jacket, scarf, hat, gloves, resume in pocket, and a two-and-a-half-mile trek to Banta Fulfillment. I walked it in 50 minutes.

It was a beautiful morning, partly cloudy skies and 34° out... warm enough that I put my hat and gloves into the pockets of my jacket. About ten minutes into my walk I thought of another phrase I often say each December. Stolen from It's a Wonderful Life, I always get laughs by quoting an exchange in my best Jimmy Stewart and Lionel Barrymore voices:

... Shit. I realized at the end of the business day I may indeed have a warrant sworn out for my arrest for, in Mr. Potter's words, "Malfeasance! Misappropriation of funds!"

I found and smoked a half-cigarette on the way to Banta. After about three puffs, as after my first one the day before, I started feeling light-headed and dizzy; I always do after smoking for the first time in over twelve hours.

On my arrival at Banta, I found the warehouse closed... long weekend for the holiday. The online ad specifically said, "No Phone Calls," but I should have called nonetheless to at least learn their hours. I left my resume in their mailbox, adding the writing of a letter of application to my list of things to do later that day. I walked back through the trails of the Heckrodt Reserve, eyeing a half-dozen cardinals winging their way through the frozen wetlands.

By the time I got home, I was happy to change into something less formal. Five miles in dress shoes was plenty long enough, plus I had built up an appetite. I ate the last of my corned beef in a sandwich along side of a bowl of canned tomato soup.

I finished the coffee I'd made for breakfast while making out paperwork at home. By 2pm I was dying for a cigarette... I hadn't smoked any of my own in almost three days, and the remnants of those I pathetically found on sidewalks and in ashtrays in the time since perhaps totalled the length of five cigarettes. My body was working too hard, though, to keep feeding it from the trash. I fought the nicotine craving by taking a nap. I slept two hours.

On waking up, I took one last trip down to the library to access my email. (They close at 5pm on Fridays.) I heard from Cindy again... she asked that I contact her when I get back from Mom's to make a coffee date. There may be hope after all.

On my way to the library I considered how apropos it was for me to have named this chapter The Edge of the Valley a month ago, as it seems all I'm doing is fighting uphill battles... against holiday blues, against nicotine addiction, against the courts... each in order to save what little money and dignity I have left. On my way back, I saw a thin, waxing crescent of the moon south along the ecliptic in the twilight, with Mars shining brightly not far to its right. The ancients believed that a waxing moon was a time of strengthening or building (for obviously symbolic reasons). Again, there may be hope after all.

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