John Carter reporting from Hommlet

How I got here, I can't be certain. That I am here is a miracle.

Who am I? Once I realized I had left home, that I had left everything behind, I decided to give up everything in my life that reminded me of home. That included my real name. Once I decided that, I knew exactly what my new name would be.

When people ask me who I am, I tell them, "John Carter." Edgar Rice Burrough fans will know what that means.

I am John Carter. Just as Rice's character found himself on Barsoom, I closed my eyes, and when I opened them I was here, just outside of Hommlet. Then things got interesting.

But, how did I get here?

I first came here a couple of months ago. I lived in Morrison, Colorado. Morrison is a suburb of the Denver Metro area. It was far enough from the city that I could go into the wilderness if I wished, and close enough to the city that I wasn't completely cut off from civilization. I was a software developer, writing systems for sales people to keep track of customers. The software itself was boring, but programming is meticulous work and I have a meticulous mind.

I had a house near open fields and hiking trails. When I first moved there a few years before, I would hike along those trails. Soon, I began camping out. At first it was only once every couple of months, and then it became once a month. Finally, it became every weekend. Friday after work I would grab my camping gear and head out into the wilds. I would hike into the night until I found a spot where I had not camped before, and I'd stay there until Sunday night. Sometimes I'd simply get up early Monday morning with just enough time to hike home, take a shower, and drive to work.

Driving. I really do missing driving a car.

For a while, it helped me get through the office grind during the week that followed. It was my little vacation away from the world. I was always eager for the coming weekend, so much so that it started to affect my work. Projects were delayed because of me, the test department found downright ridiculous bugs in my code (such as a page not loading…very sloppy), and as a result the project was delayed. The client was late getting it, and they were not happy.

The department head pulled me aside and asked what the problem was.

"There's no problem," I said. "I guess that one just got away from me."

That answer didn't fly, not one bit. Next thing I know I'm on mandatory vacation for the next two weeks. I was beside myself with glee, in spite of the fact I was in deep trouble. It was entirely possible I could lose my job, but I didn't care. Not one little bit.

Why? I had lost interest in life. The world around me didn't appeal to me any longer. It angered me that I felt this way. I felt like some high school kid shaking is fists furiously at the world, as I once did. I couldn't admit it when I was in high school, but I could as an adult. The world was not the problem. It was me.

I parked my car in the garage and went directly inside. I grabbed my camping gear and headed straight for the wilderness. Part of me had no intention of returning.

I had no idea that really would be the case.