Quesy

The day shift has ended and with it comes the night of wrestling with uncertainty that I am not at all comfortable with. It makes me queasy.

So many things. So many many things to ponder. Mostly related to my hip and where I work and where I live and how long I will work and live.

If I have the surgery in 2 weeks that could be advantageous because then I would have the certainty of getting it over with. But I would be going through it entirely alone which makes me feel more anxious and vulnerable.

And then there’s the option of surgery on the next available day which is almost 2 months later. Which could be good because J has offered to come to town to escort and assist me, which is far nicer than going through this alone.

It has the disadvantage of 2 more months on a useless hip. Plus who knows if I will have a job in 2 months because I have very well near run out of things to do and I’ve stretched things out just about as far as i could stretch it to give my employer the delusion that I my work is useful and productive. Otherwise, I know something leading to my exit is imminent.

It would be nice if I could control my own exit.

And then there are all of those other jobs I’ve interviewed for that might have possibility. And how could I accept a job and then tell them that I could not work or could not start work for at least 6 weeks?

And if I lose my job before it is my decision to lose it, I do not think I would qualify for short-term disability benefits. And then what? I would be screwed.

And I would miss C’s graduation from law school party. Which might not be a bad thing, he ponders selfishly, having an excuse to miss another family event.

All of this is uninteresting and unnerving to contemplate. I thought it might be clarifying and maybe even therapeutic to write. But this is not so.

This partially explains why writing is so dangerous. You just don’t know where it will lead you. There is danger everywhere.

The one thing I do know is that it is not leading me to a state of transcendence I so pine for. I do not know what it is leading me to, what they are for, these words.

About The Lost Pedestrian

In my wanderings throughout the moments/days/years, I try in earnest to find the mystical within the mundane and the mundane within the mystical, oftentimes confusing one from the other. I have wandered and roamed through many a city, many a town, in a state of wonder and bewilderment, without necessarily going anywhere. I am easily lost, but eventually found. (I am guessing you have just found me). My sincere hope is that you will find Something in this warehouse of thought, memory and false memory, words, numbers, tangents, murmurs, echoes (lots and lots of echoes), voices, dreams, and other paraphernalia.
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