Monday should be stricken from the calendar; or how I learned to stop worrying and love the bald.

If you are reading this please keep stopping back. I swear that I will soon become more positive. Most of this stuff is cynical, but today it is really just because it's Monday. And I like being miserable. I was just told that it's a sign of aging.

I began coping with the aging process young. I have been bald since I was 19 so I have a right to hate everything and show my hate by complaining: I haven't run my fingers through my hair in over a decade for chrissakes.

Anyhoo... This morning I realized I was wearing a dork sweater with a dress shirt under it, a cap and a scarf. In my hand was a thermos of coffee and a lunch bag which included my main course of, wait for it, stew. I was on my way to a place I can't stand to do something that doesn't interest me. Oh, and I was listening to NPR on the way there. I am simultaneously a cliche and the father from Gremlins.

When did this happen? Anyone else out there feeling me? Any advice? Is it time to buy a red corvette?

I find my situation very similar to the existential plight of these lonely sun glasses that have been sitting on this window sill for months.

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