I fear I am very lazy. In my defense, I work hard and I take my job seriously.  All the same, my work ethic quickly dries up like desert moisture whenever I am away from the office. Today our weeklong holiday ends and we drive home; tomorrow I am back to business and usual.  Some people are ‘ready to go back to work’ after a week off; I only feel sad to do so. Mind! I like what I do and I am good at it.  In summary, I would rather not work.

Most of the people I know don’t work; they are either retired or living off of some sort of allowance. I am envious. Even my own household situation touches on this topic. Someone (no fault of his own) is unemployed and jokes his job now is “Doctor’s wife, without the big jewelry”. I bring home the bacon. It should be the other way around. He likes to work; I would be quite content to run a household. But that is how the old mop flops.

Another source of ill-thought about working is the terrible intuition it will never end. The chances of me retiring (and doing so comfortably) are slim. I can’t blame a lack of income; it is the expenses that do it all in. I am likely to toil until I either die or am sued out of existence. Even with squirreling away some savings and dodging a heart attack it will probably all wash away in nuclear war or economic meltdown.

These despondent thoughts always spring up on the morning of the end of a holiday. We pack up this morning and drive back to Phoenix. We will drop off our chums at various airports, and life will be back to normal – along with a pile of patient charts waiting for me to attend to them.

As I drive through the desert towards home, I get very thoughtful. Where are we really going, and what will happen next.  I am comforted by the words of Merlyn in “The Sword in the Stone” who tells Wart:

“Oh, why don’t you wait and just fine out?”.

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