Another Day, Another Dollar
Entry 1 Thursday creeps up on me every time. It always feels like I have enough time to get things done, whatever those things may be. I don't hate working, but hate work . I dread it every day. I hate being interim, albeit I have no clear direction. It wouldn't matter if I did, I seem to have lost whatever meaning I found in working about the time the troubles began some three years ago now. We are in the thick of it, regarding history. So far, not so good . Jenny's mom died three years ago next week. Jenny's CT scan that started our journey into darkness and the results given that same day happened yesterday or today. Strange that I didn't write it down, but I wasn't keeping a journal then. I can still feel the pain, the terror she felt when hearing the news, and the certainty I felt that she was just handed a death sentence. I cam hear the placating tones of the PA delivering the news, Jenny repeating over and again, "OMG, I'm going to die," an...