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Thursday, May 24, 2007

He means well, Iím sure. And I certainly feel more included than I have since the last time we shared an office, back in the early nineties. But oh, man. Doesnít he have anybody else to talk to?

The Boss has been phoning me eight or ten times a day this week. That probably doesnít sound like much, but sometimes he calls just to talk about things we donít really need to discuss. At least I donít need to discuss them. Maybe talking about them to me does something for him.

I try to think what it must be like for him. I know they rented a hospital bed, and I know that his essential files have been transported from his office to his exís house. So I picture him sitting up in bed with files spread out on all sides, and the phone and fax by his bedside. Heís alert and attentive to detail, as much as he ever was. And he wants to present the image to the world of a man for whom nothing has changed, just because he canít walk right now. Sort of like FDR, only not.

Sure, I admire his resilience and determination. But I kind of wish he had some other friends to talk to.




6 May 2007

Playing fields.



So Iím trying to get used to the new dynamic, at the same time that Iím trying to keep things as much the same as possible. I mail him a package of paperwork once a week, because he likes to keep copies of all the bills I pay, among other things. I wrapped up a weekís worth of stuff and stuck it in a big envelope tonight, and Iíll mail it tomorrow morning, before he has a chance to realize that heís now only seven miles away from me. The last thing I want is for him to ask me to drive back and forth, for any reason. And if he does ask me, I want it to be too late already.




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