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Every time my hard disc spins on its spindle, I can’t tell if it’s the sound of my stomach acid or the next email coming down the pipe. It’s usually a mixture of both. I have to thank God for allowing my computer to think louder than I do. I’d be fired and embarrassed if my thoughts groaned out of the fixed joints in my skull the way data spews wasted energy past the case of my CPU.

Today my task list reached new heights with another twenty items added to the already megalithic list of uncompleted tasks. There are still 227 emails in my inbox.

In Durham, North Carolina my grandmother is fighting for air because habits are hard to kick until they become an incendiary hazard to the oxygen tank that stalks you. It’s a fact; scissors always beats paper and mobile oxygen tanks always beat cigarette habits. She’s not doing so well today, and I am trying to act like I give a damn about my inbox, task lists, and projects while waiting to hear word from my brother as to whether I’ll be spending Thanksgiving next to my grandmother that I have neglected to see too many times.

Now I am wondering if I am typing this for any reasons at all other than selfish ones. I’m not looking for pity or praise, but I could be looking for some kind of self-fulfillment; the kind of self that those cliché backpackers in Europe are looking for. Do the backpackers ever get mixed up and go to the other Meccas of finding one’s self? Can you imagine? A hairy guy with an overgrown metal-tubed backpack is looking for himself in an overpriced grid of streets and iPods called “The Village”. What does he do? He found himself. He learned that the real him needed a haircut and some hip new horn-rimmed glasses. Him finds himself on the raw diet. Him rejects war. Him eats a ham sandwich when no one is looking and feels a little bit guilty when visiting Him’s war veteran Dad back in Emma, Missouri.

Well, I heard from my brother. It’s now 6:12PM. My sister should light my phone up any moment to let me know she is on her way to meet Jessica and me to start the four-hour trip on one of the busiest travel days of the year. We’ll get to my brother’s house sometime around 11 or midnight counting stops and traffic. Then tomorrow? We’ll see…