There has been a different scent to the air this summer.

Desperation.

That heavy musk has tinted anything and everything with its intoxicating aroma. Maybe you've noticed it too. A bit of frantic scrambling mixed with a nice dose of lethargy. Like the planet has been twisting a bit out of control and you can't decide whether to try and catch up or just let it spin and wait to cut in on the flipside. It's a tricky jump and missteps cost, so you need to get it right the first time.

I actually felt the air get heavier in early summer. A stink was rising up, and I couldn't figure out where it was coming from. It was the stink of complacency. I kept looking around every corner, thinking I'd discover it sitting there, waiting--this is complacency, so you'd think it would be easy to find. But I didn't see it anywhere, even though the smell kept getting stronger.

I thought that summer would take care of it. Anything that tries to survive the brutal summer heat is bound to lose. But then the summer wasn't mean, it was comforting. It rained for almost two straight months. And that stink was starting to creep up wherever I turned. And then I found the source--it wasn't pretty.

A huge green and brown rash of rot and gangrene running from the bottom of my back all the way down to just behind my left knee. It was spreading, trying to take over. I had to take action.

Doctors were mystified but billed me anyway. Large doses of aloe vera and cold cream were applied. I researched the Internet, but just found more sites offering "free" glimpses of Pam and Tommy in marital bliss. There was no cure--or so I thought.

About three weeks ago, I discovered the cure for complacency. Just one letter down and three steps over. Desperation. Shake that booty and see what falls off. The rot ran for its life, and all I had to do was chase my tail for a few weeks.

But getting rid of complacency is nothing like killing off desperation. This is a whole new ball game and no quick cure West Coast Offense is gonna turn it around.

So I quit my day job.

I bet you thought I was gonna wallow in metaphorical ecstasy all day. Nope.

My job for almost three years. More time than I spent in high school. More time than I'd ever given to one company after graduating from college. More cobwebs and memos and donuts than I can count.

Three years isn't really that long, I guess. Most of the people I worked with had been there long before I shook my shaggy mane in their face, and most of them will be there for a while longer. But for me, three years is forever. I didn't want to be one of those people who keeps the steel rod of security up my ass just because it's stable.

I got tired of playing the game. And losing. I wasn't going anywhere. Not only that, I wasn't even sure which race I was running in anyway. And here's the thing--I'm not that good a runner.

So now, desperation is smelling just right to me. My new cologne. And even if the road is dirt, at least it's a place to go.

Unlike the old grade school playground where the tetherball smacks me in the back of the head right after I think I've gotten a pretty good whack in.

I keep looking for an ending, and all I find are closets full of secret passageways. So I'm gonna go ahead and open this next one. I'll let you know where it goes.

Matt Worley wanted to mix a few more metaphors in, but was flagged on the goal line for excessive extrapolation.