Saturday Dog Grooming

The basketball noise is beating outside by the court. Some kid. I identify with the boredom.  I used to do repetitive activities bours on end to gain mastery and expertise with ball or needle and thread, bow, rifle. Now I don’t seem motivated to learn a new set of skills. I’m resting on my laurels.  Landing in the routine. I’ve done my years of duty and service. I’ve grown old and it’s come upon me . I wonder these days what to do when I grow up. Retire or work.  Do I have enough money and I did years ago when I continued on working for want of a better pursuit. Serving God and my fellow men.  My vocation and calling. But now it’s not so much a reason for being. I wonder if I’m not better placed elsewhere making the best of what I have left.

Friends die.  So many.  George, John, Ron, Vivian, now Robert and Gordie.  All in a few years.  Pointing to my morbidity.  Should I be sitting in a trailer garage answering questions of the fearful and ills, using my expertise to provide solace.  

What else could I do.

I always wanted to write

I think of a sex change. At least breasts and a face lift, a change of identity.  The Leonard Cohen song, I want a new face plagues me.

There’s this soul searching birthday present, visiting the home of my grandfather. I knew him and while I was okay for me as a child his stature has grown in my life and I realize what a remarkable man he was. Rancher and Reeve.

I am taking Madigan to Coco Dog Groomers.  He has been my reason for being, my baby, my room mate,  my physiotherapist., My day revolves around his walks. He lifts me out of myself. I am already fearing leaving him as I fly overseas. I am avoiding worrying about Covid and quarantines only as they disrupt schedules and limited time.  I’m looking so forward to being without demands and pressure.  I don’t want to hear the depression, anxiety and despair. I don’t like all the attitude. There are fine people in sickness but less fine people in sickness are much harder to deal with. So many wth quick draw offence these day. I’m tired of the fight to still the fear.  I have recurrent flashbacks of nightmares. This court case from time gone by is bringing up the courts where I wasn’t there as anyone but an expert presenting information I’d gleaned backed by experience and training and had to be attacked and challenged in this vicious game of make the lawyer look great and the judge playing out the swabbles between the sides. I’m forced now to participate like other times not invited by enslaved . I think it must harken back to my older brother and I as kids before our parents presenting sides.  I was younger and less competent but had truth on my side. I was an am a truth teller, increasingly rare.  I only went to court because my patients needed the help in court , their injuries in accidents hurting them as much as their head injuries and such.  I don’t want to do this any more. I really want to be in a trailer in a campground by a fire. 

I want to write stories I suppose.

Maybe return to poetry.

Finish the three books I’m almost through

Time to get my buddy to the groomer.