To be a saint is a full-time job, and I admit that I?m already otherwise gainly employed.  Thus, to those I?ve offended on purpose or not, to those I?ve slighted in ways large and small, I apologize.  The lady whose fish-print dress I snickered at, the homeless beggar I pretended to ignore, the child whose lollipop I stole, to you and you and you, most of all, I submit my remorseful regret.  If these humble notes do not satisfy the anger and shame and distress I might have caused, please excuse a simple working man who, to the saints, must one day make amends.

Luster fade from eyes unseeing. 
Body wilted soon departed.
What words pass through parting breath? 
Too much undone?
Or Good load of fun?

I enjoy curling up with a good novel on a Sunday afternoon, or saving the world (again) in the latest blockbuster video game.  These are simple pleasures that I enjoy but I rarely make the time for because there?s always a list of much more important things I ought to be doing.  I could be reading a self-help book, washing the car, balancing the checkbook, or putting in an extra hour at the office.  I could be doing a whole lot of other things that are productive rather than lazing around and doing something I enjoy.  There is always another rung on the ladder to success that I could be climbing, but where do those steps really lead?  Will being productive make me happy?  Maybe, or maybe not.  I do know that chocolate mints go down well on a lazy Sunday afternoon, and that turning each page in a good book makes me happy, even if it does make me feel a little guilty? for being happy.