My Last Day at Work

I am writing this after a considerable amount of time off.  I recall commenting to a coworker the day prior about some weekend plans, which is very rare for me.  I have some hints of my personal life that indicate my life is uber-swell.  It is.  Painfully too swell for some around me, and to discuss how well life goes for me sometimes would be a tad annoying for those who had to endure listening to it. . . as long as that was the only side they ever heard.  That particular weekend we had some big plans, and the coworker & I had engaged in a conversation that revealed part of my personality and general financial condition that I generally choose not to let others see.  Lift others up, don’t make them feel defeated. 

I was surrounded by people who had either made poor choices in life or felt they had been dealt a raw deal in life.  I believe that life is what you make of it.  I’ve watched family members squander away money that others could only dream of having one day, and I’ve seen other family members rejoice that someone came to visit them.  I call it an Attitude of Gratitude.

Needless to say, no one at my office had a hint that I had a chronic illness except for a few individuals that it was necessary to inform.  I was doing well physically, thankful for a job that I truly loved, and expected to retire there.  I was looking forward to the weekend, as the months upon months of overtime were wearing me out.  Many people had had all kinds of illnesses, as one would expect.  I found symptoms building slowing over time, felt I was managing them within the confines necessary to maintain my employment, but the demands kept building each month.

Nevertheless, I left on a Friday with who knows what at my desk.  We aren’t a company that gets worked up over personal security, although there is a place to lock items up.  I would do that if I knew I weren’t returning for many months.  As it was, I don’t remember anything about the last time I left work.