The day after the morning after

It begins with a a light drizzle and ends with solitary confinement.

I am not sure where that came from. That doesn't bode well for my year. I can see it unraveling now. I watched the film "A Serious Man" last night, seeking a retreat from a New Year's day of sleeping in and drinking late and Bloody Mary recapitulation. Instead I watched a story of a man losing what little grip he had on his world. He was never king of his domain to begin with, something more like a middle manager. Like me.
Middle manager. And like any good middle manager, I have some good excuses on why that project didn't get finished, why that deadline was missed by 12 weeks and why god has taken it upon himself to persecute the witless.

My top five excuses for 2011:

1. I do not need butane for my hair curler iron. It's for my lighter. I certainly would not being using that butane for other activities, like volatile substance abuse.
2. I am too working here at my desk. I am having a work conversation. About work. I am certainly not spending this past hour talking about flammability aspects of butane or how to set the neighbor's kidney shaped mailbox on fire, the kind of fire that may burn up not only their hideous mailbox, but also their wooden replica of Boxcar Willie, complete with a full-sized boxcar.
3. I didn't touch that woman's ass. I was taking dust samples. From near her midsection. With my hand. For a project. That involves dust samples.
4. I am sorry that I missed our lunch engagement. I stopped eating lunch. It hurts the environment. And Jesus didn't eat lunch. He ate big breakfast burritos in the desert with quail eggs and buffalo meat. So I am kind of like Christ by missing our lunch date.
5. My asthma caused me to forget that zombies lack common decency. They do not pardon themselves or ask permission to leave the table . In fact they lack all social mores, and fashion sense as well. Their clothes are always stained with blood. They kill indiscriminately with neither malice nor passion. So when I assumed that the zombie was holding the door for that woman in the Brookstone's store, I misread that moment entirely. The zombie was holding the door for me. To eat my brains. So I let him.

2011. The year I operate with no frontal lobe. The best excuse of them all.