Some Thoughts Before Your Crash Landing

Mars Bar,

Hey buddy. Two weeks left, huh. Seems like you've gone from rumor to beachball overnight. Your mom constantly points out that that you're significantly heavier than a beachball and that walking around with a beachball wouldn't hurt her back or keep her up at night or make it hard for her to breathe. I've told her that I'm also suffering, and repeatedly showed her this nasty cut on my tongue I got when one of your sisters kicked me in the face (BTW, watch out for your sisters, they'll kick you in the face) but she's incapable of sympathy.

I realize I've done a poor job of keeping you up to date. No news about your newly minted organs. No existential freakouts about becoming a father. No advice on how to choose your genitalia.

The truth is, I'm both busier than I used to be and just as lazy. Having two lip splitting daughters and an actual paying job will do that. In fact, I'm writing to you from the wrong side of a deadline. I had a script due Friday. I told them I could totally hand it in on time, but that I had suddenly realized my main character should be Hitler. Since it was supposed to be a modern day story of self discovery you can imagine how that went over. The upshot is, if you want an extension on something, just threaten to make the main character Hitler. I now have until the day you're born to figure out a non-Hitler solution to my problems.

The point is, I haven't forgotten you. In fact, in exactly the same 'do your homework five minutes before class' way that I've lived the rest of my life I plan to remedy my radio silence. In addition to de-Hitlering my script, wrapping presents, and trying to eat with just the healthy half of my tongue, I plan to shoot you a hello everyday between now and your arrival. Think of yourself as a astronaut about to crash land into a foreign planet and me as mission control trying to give you a quick picture of the natives culture before they show up and start kicking you in the face. With any luck we'll both be ready by the time you pull your rip cord.

Until tomorrow spaceman.