I started the day at 7:00 AM. The sun had just risen. Or at least I think it had just risen. Never having seen it rise before, I'm honestly not sure what time the sun do riseth, but 7:00 AM seems like a pretty good time. Nice. Even. Early.

But it wasn't the sun which awokethed me. It was the intruding sunlight with a side order of banging on my door that got me out of bed.

At 7:00 AM. A time when most good people are already up and starting their days. But I am not those people.

I was wearing my underpants and nothing else. If it had been 5:00 AM, then I might have answered the door dressed as such, thinking that anybody who was rude or foolish enough to disturb me at that hour deserved to see my pale white body, sweaty and hairless, still bleeding from... Well, I don't want to go on for too long about the details.

But it was 7:00, and it wasn't the time to answer the door in my skivvies. I threw on a pair of jeans, ran a hand through my sexy hair, opened the door, and was nearly run over by three restless men who told me, as they rushed by in a Doppler shifted introduction, that they were there to remove my personal belongings from my home and place them in storage until I found a new home up in Seattle.

My "move coordinator" told me that it would be a breeze. Not only was Microsoft going to pay for my move, but they were also going to splurge and get those moving guys who don't just haul your stuff away, but who also pack everything up for you. She told me that all I would have to do was stand in the middle of the room and tell the movers what to pack. I was assured that they would only pack what I wanted packed, and leave unpacked all that which I desired left unpacked. Simple enough.

Before I had a chance to turn around and follow my enthusiastic packer people, I heard them yanking things off shelves, opening cupboards, and trying to squeeze things into cardboard packing boxes.

I sensed danger, ran to the kitchen, and got there just in time to stop one of them from trying to dismantle the stove. Another was busy packing my trash. The third was asking me if he could drink the rest of my beer since "...you're moving anyway."

I got everybody to stop what they were doing and listen to me for a second.

And I mean that literally. It lasted about a second. Then they went back to wrapping my window and packing a half-eaten tub of mint-chocolate-chip ice cream for the voyage. Except for the guy who wanted to drink my beer. He was deeply involved in the task of drinking my beer. I still hadn't given him permission, but then I also hadn't OK'd 95% of what was going on. If letting him steal my beer would keep him away from my personal belongings for a little while, then it was a small price to pay.

Several hours later...

I stood there, staring into the toilet bowl, examining the off-brown liquid which had burst forth with volcanic force from my face with little warning.

I don't know what happened. Whether it was the stress or the physical exertion of babysitting the movers and taking on much of the packing duties myself (hey - they had beer to drink), something triggered the vomit response. Some molecules had bound to a few chemoreceptors and sent the "Hey - let's barf" message to my brain.

Again.

And again.

And yet again, and again, and again.

The situation was even more out of control than the movers. I had managed to convince them to untape and remove my hot lady neighbor from one of their boxes, but I couldn't get my body to stop ejecting half-digested waste from my facehole. Warm bile shot out of mouth, and when my mouth could no longer accommodate the violent stream of stomach juice, it found its way out of the twin passages of my nasal appendage. My insides burned, my eyes were bloodshot, it had been ten hours since the sun and the movers had first disturbed my restful slumber, and I hadn't even begun to move the remainder of my belongings (the items the movers didn't pack (or consume)) down to the car for transport to Seattle.

 If I could read barf the way the Oracle at Delphi read dreams, then I'm sure my barf would have said, "You're fucked."

And some twenty-four hours after that...

I was back on my feet. Feeling weak and shaky, wondering when the next gastric attack might occur, but I still succeeded in my quest to drive my car and my belongings up to a suburb of Redmond called "Woodinville".

That's where I live now, and where I shall remain for the next several weeks.

Woodinville.

My apartment is very nice, but the complex in which it is situated is a tad on the trashy side. I expected to find a just-add-water meth lab in the kitchen of my corporate apartment. It would have provided me a way to fit in and make friends with the neighbors, but alas and alack, such luck was not to be mine. I wasn't even provided a gun.

Feeling sorry for myself, I unpacked my Xbox 360 and went to hook it up. If I couldn't find common ground with the gentry of Woodinville, then I would disappear in the make-believe world of video games.

Unfortunately, upon initial activation of my 360, its front panel lit up with three red lights - this illness of the console has come to be known as "The Red Lights of Death."

If I could read those lights the way I wished I could read barf as the Oracle at Delphi read dreams, then those lights would have said, "You're fucked."

Finally - the present...

All that behind me, I'm sitting in an office of Building 18 on Microsoft's main campus, and I'm the happiest little boy in the world. Getting to be on campus, and getting to work what will almost certainly prove to be the job that will be the highlight of my career, is enough to make me feel just bloody fine about the few little problems I encountered on the way here.

Those obstacles were necessary, of course. It wouldn't have been a subset of The Hero's Journey without them.

Yes: I'm calling myself a hero.

No: I have no right to do so.

No: This is not going to stop me.

If I could read the smile on my face the way that I wished I could read the lights on my Xbox the way I wished I could read my barf the way the Oracle at Delphi read dreams, then it would say, "Yay!"

And, lo!, I am happy.