Creeping Toward Oblivion

is what I’m doing.

Sometimes I crawl, or creep, out of my most comfort
Well worn creeping wear

All of us are (even the 1%). We resist and seek relief – honestly or dishonestly. Knowingly or unknowingly, consciously or unconsciously. We do this passively or actively via self-promotion with the goal being self-preservation.

The Avenue

or path, or road, are many. And our unique journey will vary. It could be “the road less traveled”, or a well worn one such as the super highway. You get the idea, right? As my Psych-girl likes to say, “It’s up to you.” To which I sometimes will reply, “It is and it isn’t.” Then I get the smug smile as she reaches for her appointment book and says, “Would you like to schedule another session?”

The COVID

has brought this ‘creeping toward oblivion” out in stark relief. My brother is a “long hauler”. He’s been under the spell for six months now and the medical bills keep mounting. He’s so uncertain about what lies ahead. Me, too. And there’s nothing I can do. It’s really not ‘up to me’. He doesn’t drink so we can’t relax into that state of intimacy, honesty, and escape.

But I’m not sick, just old; and my lease is up for renewal.

Twelve months

is a long time, at my age. Each day passes and Time, the enemy that has never lost, keeps marching on down the road – bringing me closer the the end. The corporation that owns my apartment has raised the cost of my safety, security, comfort, and pleasant environment up 7%. The increase is a calculation done by an algorithm based on factors of comparison with similar apartments within this locale (the greater Denver area). They insist it’s a good price.

Because I checked, I know it is. I did this without ever having to leave my home, or talk with anyone on the phone. Amazing! That alone saves time. Moreover, at my age Time itself becomes ever so precious.

Father Time, I can hear you laughing at me, behind your smug smile. When I close my eyes.

I’ll take the deal

I will. It’s a good one. For twelve months I don’t have to worry about my basic needs. Most of them, anyway. She, Psych-girl, has assured me she’s not going anywhere; and I’ve got enough money to last for twelve months.

So what the hell? Time to kick back and celebrate. Cheers. And good luck, “you guys”.

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