2002-07-23 3:42 p.m. I worry about myself sometimes. Not in the oh-my-gawd-what-will-become-of-me kind of way. Not that way at all. In that way of thinking, I actually have very little to worry about. Things are actually going well for me for once. Quite well. Quite quite well. Quite quite quite.....oh, you get the idea. The job is here, the job is adequate, the job (to be frank) pays me more than they should. I live in a beautiful house in a beautiful town and, for the most part, have beautiful friends. And I'm not talking about looks. I have other people (and by that I mean "another person") who is relatively new to the whole World of Michael (copyright 2002, MikeCo Industries) but seems to be fitting in quite well. Quite quite well. Quite...what?...oh, gotcha. You've got the idea. She...err... I mean "this person"... keeps me smiling and actually makes me excited to go into work. For work is where the email is. And email is where her words are. Ok, fine, I'll shut up now. The family is good, maybe better than ever. I spend a week (a week!) at the beach in less than a month. I am happy. Still, sometimes I worry. Ok, you know, that might not be the right word. Nope, actually, it's not the right word at all. I don't worry about myself. What I do is I wonder about myself. I think it is quite possible that I may have been born at the wrong time. 2002 just doesn't feel, well, natural. Ask anyone; I can drone on and on about the most mundane and pointless details from centuries past or wax rhapsodic about exciting advances coming in the beginning half of the current millenia. But the here, the now, doesn't interest me. I'd rather carpe diems past or yet to be. This is not to say I have no interest my family and friends. That all feels right and proper and natural and good. I guess I just wonder sometimes how I fit with them and fit with all of you and why I feel anachronistic. Or not-yet-chronistic. Maybe that beach week won't be here soon enough. Maybe I need to sit on the porch, dig into a mound of Old Bay-smothered crabs, sip a Corona, and watch ships slide by - far out to sea. downtown----uptown leave me a note, fool!

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