(not to be misread as “What I’m Not Going to Tell You, Now That I’m BLACK”) <-- thank you, Mark

¡Hola! ¿Como está?

I am now physically, mentally and emotionally back in Chicago. I've been back, physically, for over a month now. Mentally, it took about a week or so before ALL the brain cells decided to volunteer for service again, and re-enlist in their various divisions: Job Labor and Drudgery, Fun Happy Spastic Randomness, Sexy Housemaid Chore-mongering, and Sleep-o-matic Dreamcastic Theatre. And well, emotions? What emotions? I have none. *snick. and er.*

For those of you first discovering that I actually have a blog, like to share thoughts, and can actually type in a somewhat literate fashion, welcome. This is my life. In a handbasket. Enjoy the free entertainment.

For those of you who were wondering where-the-heck-and-what-the-heck has Billy been for the past month and a half, well, I'm not really going to tell you that. I'll tell you where I've NOT been: Mexico. Nor have I been in the Philippines, Caribbean, Kenya, Germany, New Zealand, South Korea, China or France. A shame that last one - that was part of one of my plans, eight months ago.

And so, I get to my point of today's post, under the lovely general category of Monkey Mondays. Mondays suck. They're meant to suck. I mean, one of the days of the week HAS to suck, consistently. Otherwise, how else would we celebrate other ones in particular? Some people love Mondays. Those are the same people that loved pop quizzes worth 20 percent of your grade in Calculus. I hate those people.

Having your plans changed immeasurably can also suck. Let me tell you how:

I made the decision to go to Mexico in January. I was finalizing things then as well, slammin' through paperwork and logistics and otherwise dead set on going. Exactly two weeks after I had confirmed going, I got my best full time job offer ever. During layoffs. I had to say "no". Ouch. I would have been set monetarily for the rest of the year, big time. But no, I was going to Mexico.

March. Chicago to Mexico. I was to be there for six months.

May. Mexico back to Chicago. Oops. NOT in Mexico for six months. Make that only two months. Scramble to find housing, scramble to revamp ye olde resume, scramble to get all brain cells, body cells, and other randomly found on the sidewalk cells working together as one. Beer.

June. Winter revisits Chicago. Ouch. Double oops. Many, many unhappy people. Unhappy economy. Job cells getting restless. Emotions running free, unleashed, screaming "Look ma! No hands!"

This past weekend. Summer arrives. Maybe for good. Maybe just for a two day visit. We don't know, we live in Chicago. We've learned to not really trust the weather, but at the same time to grab the sun with both hands and stare at it as long as we can because tomorrow it might not be around, and then it won't really matter that we're all blind from burning our eyes out because there wouldn't be anything to see anyway.

I'm not going to tell you that my life has been interesting, especially starting when I got back to Chicago. I'm not going to tell you that all my plans were pretty much kicked to the curb exactly one week after being back. I'm not going to tell you that if I didn't go with the flow, I would be a very unhappy, stressed out person. I'm not going to tell you I find happiness in the simplest of things, like walks along the lake, coffee with friends, or running into random people on the sidewalk I haven't seen in months.

I'm not going to tell you there's a song in my head, it's in F minor with interludes of D flat major and F major and A minor thrown in for good measure. I'm not going to tell you about the day two staff members at a hardware store kept checking on me because I'd wandered in, hair unkempt, frayed jeans sagging past Crackdom, walking a little stiff and cheerfully wishing the counter staff Happy Saturday, looking at all the light bulbs.

It was Sunday.

I'm not going to tell you about the day I showed up for one of my first gigs, all bushy-tailed, ready to go, plow, stream some code from my brain to my hands to the keys to the board to the net.

24 hours early.

I'm not going to tell you how all my stuff is in Nashville, myself is in Chicago, and parts of me are still missing topes, quesillo, invisible highway lanes, thistle bushes and Hug Attackers. Children who live at a particular home just outside Tlacolula de Matamoros, Mexico, it seems, have found a permanent residence in my heart.

And I’m certainly not going to tell you that a man can make the best laid plans and within a twirl of the wind, find they’ve all been re-arranged, changed, canceled, remade, added to and all together mixed up beyond recognition.

I will, however, tell you that’s not at all necessarily a bad thing.

I’m in Chicago, and Chicago has said “welcome back, and oh by the way, all the plans you’ve had in your head are now gone, again. Have fun!”

Welcome back, indeed. Happy Monday.

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