I have returned home and have found substantive work.
I recognize that I traverse dangerous and difficult ground in the writing of this epistle for lo! there are many computer savvy people in the world, some of whom I may work with or for, but I am determined not to let that stop me from writing the truth about what it is that I do! Why, gentle reader? Because I have a deeply seated desire for self-destruction. Did you know, and of course you couldn't, that I once attempted suicide at the tender age of six? True! I was discovered by my mother with a kitchen knife notched into my sternum, contemplating the effects of pressure on its handle. We don't talk about this around the house. Nor do we talk about the fact that I'm thirty years old and living with my folks!
In point of full disclosure, I should mention that I'm rather poorly this evening. Why, you ask? I thank you for your concern. My parents have left town, leaving me by my lonesome in this rather giant house, with only the two dogs to look after. After eight hours at work I came home and took the dog outside for what I think might best be described as a romp. A romp differs from a walk in that its direction is aimless and it is limited to the confines of our rather large yard. Full moon tonight, incidentally. I run the dogs hither and yon, call them, scold them, chase them, hug them. Bucolic doesn't begin to describe it. At one point I'm so among them that I actually urinate next to them, in the gray grass and the freezing cold unafraid of neighbors discovering me. However, it is during this mid romp that I fail to notice one of the wrought iron fences we have placed around one of our young trees to prevent deer from eating it and run full force into the aforementioned stationary object. The fence caught me on the throat, tearing a line of flesh that looks speciously as though I have tried to hang myself. This is not unusual. Any injury I sustain always looks self-inflicted to me. Whether its the strange latitudinal cuts on my wrists or the gunshot in my thigh, it always looks like I did it to myself. 
The effect of this wound to my throat, apart from my newly marred appearance is a difficulty in swallowing and/or breathing deeply. So tonight as you breathe or swallow...think of my newly obstructed airway and no that someone somewhere envies you.
I will talk about my job at a later date when the venom doesn't trigger acid reflux and lacerate my trachea further.
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