Flyte's Fantasy

Reality set in this morning when I opened a cabinet door. But I get a little ahead of myself - as usual.

Yesterday I was full of dreams and ambitions. Like maybe I could be a copywriter or an editor for would-be-published authors. I had been judging a contest for writers - something I've been doing for years - and discovered I enjoyed it. I enjoyed taking what someone had written and showing them how to make it stronger; how to make the pacing better; where they were having problems with point of view. Eureka! I got it. I think I got it! What I can do - something I'm good at - something I enjoy and something I can do from home.

I was off! In more ways than one. I figured I could open an eBay business, use Paypal and have the manuscripts sent to me with returned postage. I was even figuring out what to charge per page.

Did I mention that I'm reading the bestseller "Blink"? It's about making decisions based on gut feelings. Maybe it's not a good influence on me. Neither is my daughter who is happier after she gave up most of her wordly possessions - as if she had that much - moved 3000 miles away and is starting over. Maybe, I could do something similar - find my own bliss.

I was really into it until I opened that cabinet door and saw "the line-up" - all the medications that I have to take to keep on going: thyroid (I have no thyroid gland so it's non-negotiable), rocalcitrol for the same reason only with the parathyroids, and various pills to keep my blood pressure down. Maybe the BP would lower automatically with a different job - maybe not.
Without a healthcare plan my meds alone would cost me more than $300 a month.

And then there's my age. At 57 one does not want to go without health insurance. My little savings would be wiped out with one hospitalization.

This morning it was as if my small dream had crawled into the back that cabinet, beside the Norvasc and Hazaar, and peeked out at me with reproachful eyes, whispering, "If not now, when?"

I shut the door and said, "Maybe never."