IT WAS AN ACCIDENT, STEVE.
Maybe the time has come for me to explain myself more fully, as my therapist said to me. I’ve had a couple of therapists over the last nine months; three, to be exact. I also have an Occupational Therapist who comes to the house once a week. She’s a wonderful woman who listens to me as I try to avoid talking about the issue at hand, because that’s what I do; I laugh at life, like Scaramouch, or maybe Porthos twirling the ends of his moustache and drinking a flagon of wine. (One can never have too much wine.)
I told you, my readers, a month or two ago about the events leading up to me being sent home from work, and not having returned yet. (I just didn’t go into it fully.) It’s not up to the Company to determine if I’m ready to come back to work, or not. I told them I wasn’t responsible for any of the decisions being made on my behalf, and I didn’t care how long it was going to take. I don’t know, I said, when I’ll be coming back to work, and to be honest, I …
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