Yep, I kicked off the Third Millenium with a trip to the office. I probably didn't have to. By most indications, the dreaded Y2K changeover was as smooth as a baby's behind. Still, I couldn't resist the urge to check out my hardware and software. It does run my business.

It wasn't easy. My head was still spinning. I'd gotten home at 4 that morning after a night of merrymaking. I managed to check everything and assure myself that absolutely nothing had changed from the day before. The one business system that wasn't shipshape was my head, which felt like a large watermelon.

Of course, I should have gone home after that. But since I was there, I figured I'd clean out my e-mail IN BOX. This was a big mistake. It took about four hours. My wife thought I crossed the state line and left for some exotic adventure. Alas, no. I must have had at least 1,500 messages that needed to be answered, deleted or filed. And this was just material from the past three months. I cannot remember ever receiving 1,500 pieces of mail, let alone in a span of three months. Seems that the tools of convenience are turning against us.

MIXING WORK AND PLEASURE. I heard on television that there's a movement afoot to get people to slow down, chip away at the 100-hour weeks until we become human again, take time to breathe, hang out on the stoop, or sit down to dinner with the family.

There are times I'd rather be changing a flat on the Cross Bronx Expressway than having a heart-to-heart with my 21- and 18-year-old boys. For the most part, I miss the sitdowns we used to have and the things that came out of them. The talks weren't always pleasant. At least we were talking. On occasion, we would also share a good laugh. It was worth the trouble of coordinating schedules to get that time together.

I don't know how to cut back. I've been mixing work and pleasure for so long now that I actually can't tell if I'm working or not. Does going into the office on a Sunday to pick up a few things and check messages constitute work?

The problem is that you're always looking over your shoulder, wondering if someone's going to grab your lunch while you daydream in the school yard. We do need to slow down. Whose gonna make the first move, though?