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The End of the Week
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This is the end of the week--though there is no end, really, and no end in sight except old age, disability and death. What there is in sight is work, more work, work of a different sort and variable work. If it isn't 12 hour days at work in an office, it's work at home (that's why they call it housework), errands, pet care, personal care and then Monday morning, huzzah, back to work in the office.

I snatch my breaks when I can, but there's always a phone to answer, a boss to please, a husband handing me the phone to answer at home, animals begging for food or pets, and, my own fault, commitments to church which I wish I had never made, because it is more give, give, give until there is nothing left of me but raw nerves and gritted teeth. When I die, my skull will still have the teeth clamped tightly shut out of sheer stress and frustration.

I say no end in sight--ever--because it becomes increasingly clear I will never be able to retire. And if I do, I will just become more of a body servant and nurse and chauffeur to that fat bag of self-pity and self-destructive habits than I am now. What would be the point?

I'll probably drop dead behind my desk, and before the chair grows cold, one of the people who is currently pushing for my position (When are you going to retire? Soon, I hope.) will sit down in it. Nary a ripple will be left in the ocean of life from my passing.

What's the point? Well, I believe we have to live out whatever life has in store, the results of whatever choices we have made (and I made at least one really bad one) because we reap what we sow. And I really messed up this life badly. I try, oh I try, to be the person I've always wanted to be, but I suspect it's a lost cause. I fall far short of my ideal.

All I'm really good for is working, cleaning, cooking and running errands. Which is something, I guess. It could be worse--I could be a drone, too, good for nothing.

I hope I'm a bit wiser the next time around and make better choices.

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