At home I caught myself facing the jars and cans in the cupboard. This besetting behavior was unconscious and troubling. Work has followed me home like a poor, hungry kitten. I was listening to what perhaps is my favorite song, "My Way," Frank Sinatra. I remember reading something Ol' Blue Eyes said once, "Don't get even, get mad..." I wonder what he meant by that.
For what is a man, what has he got?
If not himself, then he has naught
To say the things he truly feels and not the words of one who kneels
The record shows I took the blows and did it my way.
-My Way
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