I woke up depressed this morning. As one of the roommates observed, "You sound sad."
I’m desperate for a satisfying career, and many times I wonder if God is testing me. You keep going because you hope someone will find you, and indeed there are warm pockets in the water, moments when I feel hope. It could be a talk with a friend, a word of encouragement from a family member, a pipedream.
Mostly there are many moments when I feel like I’m going to sink. Every day is a struggle for sanity, laughter, and medication.
My latest conflict occurred with Dr. Y, my newest doctor at the Buddhaman's practice. I was fined $250 for canceling an appointment at the eleventh hour about two months ago. The ADHD stimulant Adderall has run dry, and I called to ask for a refill. The secretary said that Dr. Y wanted the money in cash, please.
"I'm sorry, but can't she make one exception," I asked. This problem was new to me. Other doctors had called a day earlier to remind me of an appointment.
Dr. Y just didn’t do that. "$250 is a lot of money," I said. The secretary heard the sadness in my voice. "Okay, I'm going to help you," she said.
Kindness emanates from the cracks of the sidewalks in this Sodom and Gomorrah. I saw it in the bus driver who stopped in front of Metropolitan Hospital for a drunken passenger, who was probably homeless. He coaxed the man to get off at that stop.
"If I keep going and drop you off down the road, you're going to be in real trouble man." The man finally got off and the driver exhaled a sigh of relief. Kindness has nothing to do with religion.
Simple pleasures surface from a rooftop dinner with the roommates and the boy. We live on food stamps, unemployment claims, and hope.
But from the roof, I see the bright flash of sun, a glimpse of the Hudson, the top of the skyline, and a deep blue sky. And I’m reminded that we are tiny in the scope of things, and there are greater problems than what is at hand.
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