Christy is flying up. My birthday is coming up. Everyone else’s birthday is coming up. Our trip to New England is coming up. Beth continues to grow up. What’s there not to like? If we could just plan that trip to New Orleans that we’ve been meaning to take for the last three years we’d really be cooking.
What keeps you from traveling? For us, there are a number of factors. There’s money, cash, moola, dough, currency, legal tender, savings, credit, and funds; all of which are insufficient (as in: insufficient funds, etc…). Beyond the big issues there’s work, school, and a general sense of malaise. There just seems to be one thing after another. Cheryl’s sick, I’m sick, my allergies are bothersome, then Cheryl’s are. One surprise, Beth has been the picture of good health. There was a time, not so long ago, that Beth went through colds like I go through socks. Not anymore my friend! (I know that’s not a complete sentence, just give me a break. I know this it takes two to have this conversation and I’m one short, but give me the benefit of the doubt.) There is one person in particular that will not find this amusing, assuming that someone else will.

Life at the office has been productive of late, much to the delight of my boss. The backlogs are disappearing as my list of accomplishments grows larger. I am the champion. O.K., I’m over doing it a little. It does feel good to contribute to a job well done though. And it is a job well done, if I do say so myself.

One: I don’t think anyone really reads through these things.
Two: Even if someone was, I have relatively little that I feel the need to hide from anyone.
Three: I am open with people to a fault.
Four: Where is the delete key?

On the one hand, I feel like this should embarrass me. However, the other hand wins out: it is who I am. I am not going to be embarrassed by who I am, despite what I may have said earlier in this entry. Come to think of it, it’s rather odd to essentially say in one breath that I put on a show for potential friends because I’m afraid of being myself; then in the next breath I assert that I’m not afraid to be myself. What’s up with that. Maybe I’m not afraid to be myself, so long as I don’t have to do it in person. Is it any wonder that I send so many e-mail messages while I’m at work?