I'm going to be so happy to get home tomorrow night, I might very well kiss the ground when I get off of the plane. No, wait...I've spent enough time in Atlanta's airport to know that the carpet is filthy. Let's just say I'll be really happy to be home, if for only a day and a half, because I'm going to be coming back here Sunday afternoon. And the Sunday after that...no, that's Easter. I'm going to tell them that I'll be here on Tuesday at the earliest, and if I can get out of coming altogether, I will.
I realized a minute ago, when I was talking about Easter, that it was a year ago on Easter (which was also Mary's birthday) that I went up to Columbus, OH to visit a customer, and had a really awful week then, and it's been like that most of the past year. I don't know if it's bad chi, or my dogma ran over my karma, or I haven't been to Mass in a few weeks, or what, but except for a couple of really good weeks (guitar camp comes immediately to mind), things have really sucked. You know, this happens to a lot of guys my age; maybe this is what brings on the midlife crisis. Whatever it is, I'm tired of it. I feel like I've got a life to get back to and I'm not getting the chance. Or, maybe more correctly, I'm not taking the chances. Woody Allen says that eighty percent of success is showing up, and I ain't there.