Not that my death is imminent or anything or that I’ve been plagued with something more terrible than the current whitehead infestation occupying my forehead. That title is probably not a fair one but it seems to fit with the whole “Where are you?” and “What has happened to you?” and “Have you fixed that internet issue yet?” plethora of questions crammed in my in-box. Recent ice storms and general freaks that I happen upon in my career notwithstanding, things are fine.

You know fine, don’t you?

It’s that “fine”. The one where you say those words in answer to someone’s query of “How are you?” when you say those words knowing full well you are LYING THROUGH YOUR TEETH TO THEM because you can’t really bear to begin your sordid tale that surely includes a failing liver or Chapter 11 bankruptcy. (Neither of which has happened to me, I promise. I don’t really drink that much. All alcoholic suggestions I write here are entirely exaggerated comedic hyperbole.)

It’s the fine that you tell people who are mere acquaintances because you don’t want to mention things like “mood disorder” since they’ll freak out. (Nope. Still a no for me. For others, yes. Me? No.)

It’s the fine you tell your favorite aunt because she’s got that diabetic sugar thing and you don’t want her to pat your back and say, “It’ll be ok, honey. Have some of the New Oreos. There are no trans fats. I can’t have any, but YOU should have several. Lots.” (No to the Oreos. Sadly, sadly…no.)

It’s the fine you tell your co-workers because they can’t be hovering over your desk if you happen to have leaky eyes and they don’t believe you when you say your contacts are bothering you so much that your ocular cavities sting producing tears. (We have a winner, folks. That’s a keeper! Tell her what she’s won, Don!)

So, no. I’m not dead. I have exactly ten minutes here at my local wireless cafe to write that I’m not. And to say thanks for the nice thoughts. I’ll even still accept some of them if you have extra. Like, for instance, if you went Christmas shopping just now and came home and looked in your bags and realized you bought those cute stripped socks and now you have extra Nice Thoughts to give and you want to send them my way. The socks would be nice, too, but they look better on you.

Nope. Not dead. I’m fine.