I think I hit the wall. Not at destructive speeds. But fast enough to shock me (as if I needed anymore disruptions) into an obvious realization: I’m old.
The weekend has arrived and I am thankful. Of the three hamsters I used to have spinning stationary laps in my head, two have died and the last is on oxygen. I recall reading about music, math and physics prodigies and how, if they didn’t publish by age thirty, were doom to never live up to their potential. At twice that age, I’m imagining how I might possibly keep up with the tasks I’m now charged with.
Oy! So much to learn. “We expect you to take two or three months to come up to speed,” they said. But I’ve already jumped in and am coding away at rush jobs. I only hope the Bumbling Orange Ball of Corpulent Covid lives to fail, so that you can join the ranks and become the Vet Tech we all know you can be… (And enjoy the challenges of mental exhaustion like me.)
In heart-related news, a new EchoCardioGram now shows full recovery of the damaged heart muscle. In contrast, the followup Zoom-Visit with the cardiologist was all, “yup, you’re now officially fucked up and will have to take meds, carry Nitro and worry about odd feelings in your chest — for the rest of your pathetic life!” Gee thanks, Doc. You’re a real glimmer of sunshine. But, the Stoic in me was, “that’s cool, who wants to live for fuckin’ ever anyway?”
Here’s Chip, the guy who’s powering the neurons for this brief post. Give it up for Chip.