Not Pretending So Much
I am applying for jobs now. Today, I am applying to be a library worker for the local library chain. I am way over-qualified, but the hours would be perfect. And I’ve worked in a library before.
Barry tries to pretend he is fine–and then he coughs. He sounds horrible. Pretense over.
Today, his health care provider sent a letter to the Social Security Administration saying he is incapable of handling his finances, an understatement. She sent me a copy. In it, she refers to Barry as having end-stage Huntington’s. This is the first time anyone has referred to him as “end-stage”, as far as I know. Somehow, that makes it more real.
My shame comes from not keeping in contact with my references over the past five years since I graduated. I hate dealing with this emotional stupidity. I am fifty and still feel this way? Are you kidding?
What grants me courage is the whole not-giving-a-rat’s-ass from turning fifty and dealing with hell for the past few years. There is nothing any employer can throw at me that can make me go through anything worse than I already have. Once you just don’t care anymore, it is amazing how simple things get. Let Barry pretend. His pretense changes nothing.