There is a Seinfeld episode where Jerry asks, “I don’t want to be responsible. Whenever something goes wrong, they ask, ‘Who is responsible?’ I don’t want to be that person!”
Yesterday, the stomach flu grips me. After pulling an all-nighter, I’m in the shower, preparing my dumb ass for work. In my former pre-cancer life, phoning in sick just was never a good option – sure I could, but not without lots of consequences – tons more work piling up, stress about being out and working much harder upon return to catch up on the hamster wheel of family law shenanigans. It’s a vicious cycle of stupid. For years I will work while sick.
It’s obvious now of course, that this is not the best idea for supporting the body as it tries to heal. But old habits are hard to break. After my scalding shower, Mike gives me the side eye and orders me back to bed. My mouth opens automatically to protest with my old, familiar rant about work ethics and how much I’m needed, only to realize that...well, that’s no longer true. I’m like a nice accessory. It’s good to have me around, but not absolutely necessary to complete the outfit.
And I’ve never been happier to be so utterly non-essential.