Six Thousand Days Since Normal
Page 8

I got diverted a bit from my story.

The year ended with an offer of early retirement from my employer, the famous institution. As suggested, I consulted with an employment attorney—actually got one of the best in the area. She told me "Discrimination against you because of your ethnic background and disability is allowed here. This is not Massachusetts." Amazing. America, "my America," is not here.


The last day of January, I ended 15 years of torture working for this famous medical institution. I had tolerated repeated insults and threats and additional damage to my health. It is now August and the job hunt is not going well. I am trying to sell my little house and that is not going well. I am approaching another era of the "potato diet." The country is going to hell in a hand basket.

I am not going to get political here. I am very political and have become far more so during the past couple of decades. I will say one thing: We are insane as a nation if we go back to what we were doing for eight years—you know those eight years—and expect different results.

I am done. I want out of here and home to Boston, Massachusetts, where the winters are long and cold, the people are crabby, and the spirit of America may still live.

I am awfully lonesome and get really scared at times. Along with everything else that I have described here, since the hospital fiasco in April 2008, I also have PTSD, as mentioned previously. This disease causes permanent neurological changes. Guess I do have a bit in common with our vets.

Yes, there have been many days when I asked God why I am alive. Today, I think I have part of the answer—to write about these completely bizarre seventeen years of a life.

And it’s been six thousand days since normal.