Recently I had a meeting with my financial advisor. He asked me if I’ve entered any new “life stages.” I said yes, I’ve now entered the stage in my life where my belly hangs over the top of my pants.
He said that’s not what he meant.
I used to think hell would be having to spend eternity ironing while listening to country music. Now I think hell would be having to spend eternity shoveling snow at seven o’clock in the morning. In the dark. While it’s ten degrees below zero and the wind is blowing the snow I pick up with the shovel back into my face.
Living in South Dakota in the winter is just like being in Sisyphean hell.
I used to do outpatient therapy. After three years of that, I was so depressed I had to go back to hospice work. People who are dying are so much easier to work with. And so much nicer. Doing therapy with psychotics and other assorted nut jobs is for people with stronger constitutions than I have. I always wanted to initiate a treatment plan of eight or ten sessions of slap therapy for the persistently mentally ill patients.
I concluded from this that I was not in the correct line of work.
I’m an atheist. Which does not mean I don’t have a lot of respect for some of the teachings of various religions, or that I deny that there are forces in the universe that I don’t understand. I believe things on faith–some things are true even if I don’t understand them, and I accept that. Like the theory of relativity. And the infield fly rule.