Yes, these are the last two sentences of Moby-Dick. Ishmael, adrift at sea after the sinking of the Pequod, being saved by the crew of the Rachel. It doesn't feel like a victory. The ending of the book is too littered with death and loss for any kind of happy ending.
Welcome to Friday. The end of the week. In some ways, it sort of feels like the conclusion of Moby-Dick. I have had a strange day of disappointment, pain, and numbness.
Today was the day I was supposed to find out whether I will have a job come January 1, 2019. The powers-that-be who own the outpatient surgery center where I work were supposed to reveal their decision some time during these 24 hours. I checked my e-mail this morning. Nothing. I texted my boss, asking her if she had heard anything. She told me that she would personally call me if she found out. I have waited all day for my phone to ring. Nothing. It is now almost 6 p.m. I have a feeling that no news is coming this weekend.
This afternoon, I had a root canal. I sat for about an hour-and-a-half in my dentist's chair being needled, drilled, drained, ground down, and filled up. I left the dental office numb and feeling like my nostril was collapsing on my face, which was a little disconcerting. Got home and had a roaring headache, so I went to bed for a couple hours.
My face has come back to life, so I now don't feel as though my nostril is trying to suffocate me. And I have resigned myself to the fact that I am not going to know my fate at work this weekend. I will have to live in a state of negative capability, accepting my uncertainty for the time being.
Tonight, I plan to go out to dinner with my family. I will have a couple drinks. Order a burger and waffle fries. Try to laugh and enjoy myself and the people I love. Perhaps God is trying to teach me something. Patience? Acceptance? Faith? Doubt? Fear? I don't know.
Saint Marty is thankful tonight for possibility and hope.
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