Rox in the Box

I go back to work for the first time this year on Monday. I knew exactly when it would be from the day I first took off in the old year, but knowledge is NOT always power because I'm still not happy about going back.

And if you think I have a sad heart wait until you see the red behinds on the people I work with by noon on Monday. You'll think you're on a mountain monkey reservation, except most of them are better shaved. Usually I look forward to going to work-if I were being (more) honest, I'd admit that I've allowed what I do for a living to define in its entirety who I am (and then wonder why I see more couches than an IKEA salesman in so many doctors' offices).

I'm working really hard in 2012 to learn to exhale (unlike another Bill) and part of that exhalation process, I hope (and you should, too) is that I feel the need to invest smaller amounts of time into these notes. They are, after all, far more ephemeral than letters to Santa burned in the chimney in that they don't actually exist anywhere, but, rather, reside, someplace and I don't know where.

Writing this is like talking to myself, but out loud where I cannot be unhappily surprised if overheard since I was, after all, engaged in a public display of attempted mental hygiene. I had a note from someone the other day whom I have met as a result of these daily burnt prayers who confessed she read this in the way she'd look at a wreck on the highway. Wait until the firetruck gets here, baby, to hose down the pavement and get the larger chunks headed towards a sluice. We'll have you back to doing double nickels in no time.  
-bill kenny