If any of my viewers are wondering about my hubris, over the last couple of days I believed a stroke or heart attack to be imminent, because I know I'm giving my notice, maybe even over this weekend, and I know this is huge and I'm probably headed for exactly what I wish to avoid, only worse, feeling faint and mildly nauseous, my intestines refuse to leave me in peace, and perhaps I've lost stability due to cheap calorie intake.
An event may still occur, as I have all the symptoms women my age develop, and I basically cannot access a doctor unless I drive myself to the internal medicine clinic I abandoned two years ago, but it appears to be I am being punished for tortellini and finger snacks. It is almost a musical score. Management puts out inspection notices and the dowager's internal combustion goes bouillabaisse. I could make light of it, but now have to redirect a good portion of my weekend. A paraprofessional from the state would simply leave me bedridden. It might be fine for my mother's sister to say we all fail, and she took care of me once with a portable commode, but for me a half century of this might as well be the brothers from The Vampire Diaries starting in the antebellum South. All I want is to leave Philadelphia, while Thiel can play musical chairs with venture capital.
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