Today is the last day of the company-wide vacation I've been on since Christmas Day. And the vacation has not been what I expected. Coming into it, I found myself looking forward to the week at home, off work. I was in a sparkling mood, was feeling self-confident and strong. I hadn't experienced any depression in several months, and I imagined I'd enjoy the week off work, maybe do some writing, watch movies, hang out with friends, and maybe go on a couple of dates with a young guy I'd just met.

But the six days of food-poisoning which hit just before my vacation really knocked me a few rungs down the ladder. And I spent the week off work feeling weak and lethargic. Moreover, of my closest friends, one was away in Europe, and another was sick. As the year approached it's end, I felt lonely, tired and dissapointed that a mild depression had appeared to cloud the fringes of my mind. I spent my evenings watching movies, frequently falling asleep on the sofa before the end of the movie.

Things reached a head on the 30th, when my upstairs neighbors rang my doorbell to let me know they were having a party on New Year's Eve, and that I was welcome to come. I told them I already had plans, which was a lie. But I couldn't face admitting to them that I had nothing at all to do on New Year's Eve.

On the morning of the 31st, I woke up feeling determined to stop feeling sorry for myself. I went running to clear my head, and when I got home, called up Brett and asked if he could muster enough energy to at least go out for a movie on New Year's Eve, which he agreed to. I spent the afternoon working at a cafe on my latest film script. And at the last moment, I answered an ad online from a guy who was looking for someone to go clubbing with to the big party at the Palladium that evening.

So Brett and I went to see "About Schmidt". The traffic driving over to Berkeley was surprisingly light - I'd expected long lines of partygoing traffic. I hadn't seen Brett in something like a month, on account of either his illnesses or mine, so we hadn't even exchanged Christmas gifts. Brett gave me a framed poster which ... well ... I'd have never bought for myself, and now I have to figure out where to put it. I was thinking the laundry room, but I don't want to offend my best friend.

Then it was back to the city, to search for a parking spot near the Sound Factory, the big club space which was holding the party (renamed Palladium for the evening). I met my online friend in the line to get into the club. He was a nice, intelligent Asian guy in his late twenties. When we got inside, it felt weird to be in such an environment again - first time in at least eighteen months. Pounding music, and shirtless men.

It was a release, after the gloom of my vacation, to be doing something so simple, and so enjoyable. And at the grand age of thirty-eight, I have to admit it felt good to receive the admiring glances cast in my direction. When I was in line for the restroom, an extremely muscular, masculine guy with a Texas drawl struck up conversation with me. One advantage of being so tall is that it gives people the easy opening line: "How tall are you?" He was in the army, and was only twenty four. My God, but he was a man. Rock solid, self-confident, handsome. He asked how old I was and shook my hand when I told him I'd just turned thirty eight.

By three a.m., I was ready to head home. I said goodnight to my new friend with whom I'd had such a fun evening, and walked out into the cold evening of 2003. My ears were ringing from the music, and my throat was sore from shouting over it. But my depression was left behind in 2002, where I hope it remains.