Monday morning quick (right) post from the office. And no. I will not be answering the question of Are you really just procrastinating? so please don’t even bother.

I finally got out of circa 2001 and into Windows 10 with my home computer. Sure, I sell technology for a living, but regardless, it’s kind of a thing with me. I refuse to replace stuff solely on the basis of I think it should last forever in the first place. My former washer and dryer lasted 19 years before I relented and not even a laundry mat would take them as a charitable donation. Me versus the machine. Literally.

As I was setting up the new computer, I began to clean out additional clutter. Most of it was also at least circa 2001 – some even older.  It’s a cathartic feeling, doing that, saying goodbye and good riddance to bad decisions, bad hair, and bad car insurance. Suffice it to say, at the end of that process I had a bag full of “what the heck were you thinking” reminders that I could never deny given the evidence trail of documentation. Lucky for me, there is an industrial-size shredder at our office and I’m usually the first one here.

So I bounce towards the warehouse, bag in hand. Doug was actually sitting in his chair slaving away at what looked to be weekend football scores. We caught up a bit, and he informed me that the warehouse was also undergoing a cathartic clean out, so, if I wanted, he would take care of shredding my erstwhile life. Having worked with the guy for almost twenty-years, I only had a slight tinge of pause, wondering whether or not he’d want my identity. Nah, I deduced. He’s also been around long enough to know my last name has changed like, a hundred times, and that’s just too much work for him.

As we walked through the key-padded door, I saw it. A photo cube that used to be in my old office.

“Hey!  Those are my people!  Wait.  Did I leave that in my old office?”

“Um, not sure. Bob just told me to throw it away.”

“Awww…look at her! My baby girl! She was three years-old in that picture. I saw her over the weekend; she’s not three anymore.”

“Does she live in a dorm or an apartment this year?”

“Sorority house. I know. I wasn’t all that good with it initially, trust me, but it’s not your stereotypical house. They’re fun, but not that kind of fun. It’s why she loves living there and I can sleep at night.”

“Well, when my Mom went to college, that generation just went to find a husband. They went for a couple years then dropped out.”

What also dropped was my stomach as I tried to push down the puke that was working its way to my mouth.

It dawned on me in that instant how times have changed. Secondarily, it dawned on me how old I would have sounded if I would have said that out loud.

So I didn’t. I just got sad.

Maybe it’s because it’s Monday. Maybe it’s because my baby is almost twenty and living in a mini-Vegas-like environment that I’m paying for like an idiotic “don’t do the crap I did” enabler. Maybe it’s because I am going to put myself through self-induced hell tonight by watching the debate (because you can’t not watch the debate) and additional self-induced hell on Saturday by running a marathon (because you can’t not run a marathon when it’s in your hometown and you call yourself a runner).

No idea, but I do know I you can choose to fix my your attitude. Tout de suite.

Everything is a choice, in fact. Choices abound now, just like they did then. And before then-then.  Nothing is new under the sun accept the way in which we choose to see the sun. Some people will tell you it causes cancer while others will tell you it makes their flowers bloom.

And Al Gore will tell you he called it years ago…waayyyy before he even invented the interweb.

Choose who you listen to wisely – above all else. Not everyone is selling the same thing. Said your favorite salesperson ever.

Post Scriptum: Next class starts soon and the new site is almost done. Yes, I know that will be helpful for us all in that there will be specific topic sections –  i.e. you don’t have to read my moods or my final theological papers and instead can just skip right on over to the dirt – and I won’t have to wonder how to stay on topic. I get to tell myself. ‘Cause hello…choose who you listen to wisely…did you skip that part?