I got an email the other day which is an event in itself since no one tends to communicate via that particular form of electronic communication anymore. They either text or stay silent.
So an email, any kind is an event in and of itself.
I signed up with my local medical -industrial complex to open a ” My” account which lets me see all of my past medical maladies and mistakes in one place. It also gives the doctor corporation free rein to remind me of appointments via text and email. Not or. Both, all the time which gets really annoying because I’m getting reminders of my appointment while I’m driving on my way to my appointment.
I suppose no shows cost the company money and so I get reminded to death not to miss my appointment at the appointed time and has anything changed since my last appointment because we want to know now so we don’t waste office time trying to replicate redundant information.
There is a dark joke here about email reminders and death I suppose. Help yourself.
In the long run, no one reads anything and no one listens and we end up wasting MY time because I have repeat everything I have previously entered into the “MY” account.
I got an email/text the other day reminding me I owed $1.43 and I needed to pay promptly except upon further review as the say in the NFL, the bill wasn’t due for three weeks.
I’m way off track here but my wheels are turning so I’ll head back to where I thought I was going when I logged in or logged on whichever is correct.
I get an email from a fella who is the class representative for my HS class of 1967 and there are about 80 other names in the send to line meaning there are about 80 other guys all my age and I know this for a fact since we all graduated in June of 1967.
I have no idea how many of us graduated that day on the practice football field. We didn’t have a stadium or a real field. We played on Sundays at a local borrowed HS field. Well, they, not me since I was below undersized when it came to football which as it turns out was a blessing in disguise. I have no facts back up my premise but I’m pretty sure that football was not in the original deck I was dealt.
The email from my class rep details a need for money for our alma mater, as all of these messages do. It’s hard to feel or remember anything about a place I sometimes hated, where I often went through the motions and barely expended any academic effort.
Besides, I left there over 50 years ago but I suppose my four years there gave me some sort of foundation for thinking clearly, thinking for myself and also thinking about others. So, ok, there is a whisper of sentimental attachment for the place I spent my wonder years.
My class rep details his life since that fateful day in June of 1967 when we donned those plastic/nylon graduation gowns and entered the real world.
He went to XYZ State, then law school, then worked for someone and then someone else, the company was sold three times and he ended up retiring from somewhere else and so here we are or so here he is.
He didn’t brag, just wrote in polite and humble lawyerese and asked us to reply with what we’ve all done in the intervening half century. One guy writes back, hits reply all and so now we all know he taught at Ohio State and some other football factory school. Retired grandkids and so on. He is retired, not his grandkids. I like to have fun with words and punctuation.
I reply to my rep only and here’s what I was aiming for when I clicked log in or on 15 minutes ago.
I highlight the highlights, useless History degree, skip the lowlights, getting fired, broken hearted, near bankruptcy, car accidents and so on. I don’t brag but I make myself look good in a modest way.
My point is it’s hard, nearly impossible to sum up your life in a few short paragraphs. Someone else does that in your obituary.
This past year has had me thinking about the things I did right, wrong and might have been questionable although at the time the questionable actions seemed appropriate.
More than the last year with all of it’s fits, starts and misgivings I suppose that as someone who graduated from HS more than 50 years ago I’m at the age where one starts to re-evaluate one’s last 50 years.
It’s certainly not to contemplate one’s next 50 years.
You do what you can I suppose. I do what I can.
And to what end is all the rethinking, re-evaluating and regretting? I’ve run out of re-something words. Add yours at you’re own peril.
Send me an email.