2010 has been a roller coaster. Not so much a Magic Mountain one, as that traveling rent-a-ride my friends and I made the mistake of going on in the 8th grade. The girl in the car in front of us puked, and in lieu of cleaning it up the I'm-sure-shittily-paid attendant threw some disinfectant on it, hit the "On" button, and let winds of motion blow puke in our young faces. {Note to self: remind friends of puke ride at 20-year-high school reunion]. It's not that I feel like puke is being thrown in my face (right now), so much as the sense of being on a moving apparatus that I can't stop or get off of.

I'm on my third job this year and tenth career in my life. On alternating weeks I'm a ambitious writer, dejected blogger, unemployed Target addict, or web professional. During January and April the fires of creativity burned like a giant oil spill, but since May I have felt about as inspired as a network line-up of reality shows.

Last week my father flew in for another whirlwind visit before he leaves for South East Asia to (I'm guessing) find himself. Plans take tangential turns when he's around and somehow we ended up in gay bar playing pool. How did I not know that I'm good at pool? For a second I thought I had a hidden talent and then I remembered that mid-90's dot.com job with a pool table in the conference room. Guess I didn't work much at that gig. But I can play pool! Who plays pool? Dudes! And not in gay bars.

I thanked my father for dinner and for helping me rediscover a passion that could help my social life.

Just for today, I'm going with the flow.