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At 7:30 A.M., I awoke with this corrective dream:

After a long absence, Cardinal Ritter Institute hired me to work in the office as an accountant. The offer surprised me, because I’ve no training in that field, nor interest. Yet, I clocked in on the designated morning, dismayed by the noise of the employees, some of whom remembered me. Small cubicles crammed the windowless room where I would work.

This disturbing glimpse into my psyche seems to reflect the busyness I’ve set upon myself, perhaps unnecessarily: very short walks outdoors with my cane and helper, additional stretching and range of motion exercises, putting up Christmas decorations, yesterday’s ZOOM holiday party with a quartet of Victorian-dressed carolers, taking over more of my self-care—all of which has exhausted me further.

As a young social worker in the employ of Cardinal Ritter Institute I had toughed it out visiting housebound patients in the city, in return for which my medical benefits covered ineffectual drugs, multiple joint surgeries, and rehab. I had to look normal, and working looked normal. Yet, rheumatoid arthritis continued ravaging my body. Better to have filed for Disability at that time, but I was too proud.

Although I was credentialed in my field, I was also ill suited for the work.

And to bring this absurdity to a head, My Dreamer has me accepting work as an accountant: Numbers have always flummoxed me. And the windowless room speaks for itself.

That I’ve been off course is obvious—Back to listening and Step One…

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