The job's not paying the bills, but I stay for the health insurance that I can't afford the co-pays for. I've got two more physical therapy sessions next week at $25 per visit. Five nights a week, I eat tuna fish straight out of the can with a plastic fork in the employee cafeteria like a hobo by a railroad track. Family members all around me celebrate birthdays and it's all I can do to send them a card or give them a call. Of course, they're cool with that, but still...I'm not.
Enough venting, I've got lots of reasons for smiling. In a year or two, we'll make the move to Florida. On that little beach town, I can work at the ritzy hotel if I'm still doing that hospitality thing for a living. I see myself driving a scooter as my primary means of transportation. The island is small - 1.5 miles wide and 13 miles long. Even if money remains tight and the job isn't entirely fulfilling, there's always the wonderful therapy of taking a moment each day and looking out across the ocean. Sand between my toes, Dylan singing in my ears, and perspective and peace in my heart, my solace awaits.