... or at least I'm attempting to be.
For a change.
Work is still crazy. It's that end-of-the-year-in-the-finance-world thing, with folks needing to make charitable gifts and pay taxes and take Required Minimum Distributions and set up tax shelters, and sales guys pushing through new accounts to meet unmet sales quotas, and advisors calling on their cell phones from shopping malls with cash liquidation requests, tempers short because everyone involved would rather be doing just about anything but business.
But for the first time since 1999, I am not flying anywhere this week. The annual mid-December weather crap-fest affects me not. If the car gets buried in the next couple days, the car gets buried in the next couple days. No nightmares about the black hole of the Midwest. No running through any airports with rolls of wrapping paper sticking from a backpack.
I decided to stay in Boston this year. For a variety of reasons best unelaborated. Although thinking about it now, long after the decision to do so, I must have realized I could stay here and still feel at home.
And I do.
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