Boston is too fucking small, anyway. Once I’m done getting my shit and my house together and have fully used every aspect of medical insurance I got, it’ll be fucking great to get the hell out of Dodge.

Leastways, that’s what I was thinking when I ran into someone at the VW dealership from the evil place I used to go to every day. It wasn’t that bad, since I’m too old to have hidden and felt shame, but it could have been more fun.

With the shooting dental pain and all and the extra pleasant, sunshiney stroll I had leaving the dealership, I was pretty grateful that I’m not pounding the workaholic hours to which I had once grown accustomed. I would have likely taken a fistful of naproxen and not called a dentist, while cabbing from the car place to the office.

Fuck that noise. From now on, my needs and those of folks I care about come first. A hard lesson to learn, but let’s hope the second half of my life re-prioritizes shit by actual importance and I never spend another 60 hours a week serving no final purpose.