Despite promising myself I need to change and do things that I want to do, I’m still stuck in a job that pays the bills but does nothing else for my soul.  The trips to the gym have become a bit sporadic.  My brain sometimes sleeps during the day and becomes active at night when I need it to sleep.  Its weird, sometimes I’ll be changing channels and it’ll stop on some show with someone going on about doing what you love.  Another day, I suddenly remembered this travel outfit that I had checked out years ago for camping and hiking trips up way up north.  Then my sister told me about a story she heard from one of our aunts.  Her brother in law had worked so hard for his company.  It was some sort of special project and he busted his balls.  When it was over, they simply let him go.  He passed away a few months after that leaving 4 young kids.  I remember my mom telling me that story many years ago.  There’ve been so many signs.

I guess I wasn’t doing anything about it.  So life decided to give me a slap in the face.  After dinner on the weekend with J, I asked him to drive me to the hospital.  I wasn’t feeling well.  The guy at the emergency did a quick assessment and in about 15 mins, I was admitted.  The guy behind me was bleeding from a cut in his face.  There were others that looked like they’ve been there for hours.  I felt a bit guilty getting ahead of them.

I was there for maybe an hour and a bit.  I only took one picture with my phone.  Sorry – no selfies. The doctor kept me awhile to make sure I was ok once I got fixed me up.  I’m fine now.   I guess I need to take care of myself and enjoy life.

You folks doing ok?

ER bed

t’s funny how memories work.  I was doing the dishes and rinsing out my spatula.  Then I remember my mom making coconut cream pie.  It wasn’t anything fancy.  I think everything was from a box.  But she added vanilla extract, orange rinds etc… to make it a bit more interesting.  After she finished, I would make sure I was first in line to lick the bowls, spoons and even the mixer blades.  If my siblings were there, she had to figure out how to divvy everything up fairly.

Then one day, instead of using a wooden spoon, she used a spatula.  I marveled at how efficient it was.  This must be a work of a genius.  When she was done, there wasn’t much anything to lick.  Even the mixer blades were pretty clean.  The 3 of us fought for those scraps like hungry hyenas.  Clearly this spatula was an invention of some sick person who didn’t like children.  I think the next time she made pie, she didn’t scrape the bowl that cleanly anymore.  Peace was restored.