Parked. Same spot within a space or two. Same time. Early. Over-achiever. Afraid of being under prepared? Same walk across the same parking lot. Early hint of the seasons changing. The air crisp but not cold enough to burn the lungs or nose. The sun not quite high enough to cast a shadow but just enough to project the morning twilight.
The same doors, steps. Institutional brick and colors, glossy floors reflecting fluorescence. The slick of the swipe, techno-beep of the card reader and click of the door acknowledge my presence has been accepted.
People calling for this and that. Food and drink mostly. "I want" or "get me" start most of the so called needs. If I hear "I'm entitled to..." or "I have to be provided with..." one more time I may become unable to control my response. Amid the entitled walkers are those who aren't. The wiping, changeing, feeding. Those who exist just above the threshold. Finding the time and fortitude to manage the walking entitled and biologic hangers-on is the name of the game. Then, of course, are the superimposed demands. The self imposed deadlines in the workflow. If none of this got done would it make a difference? How much do we do because we can rather than we should or must? Evidence-based means my coffee will certainly grow old without me.
The voice that puffs from a once catatonic mouth calls to a mom who's not there and most likely no longer on this Earth. That voice touches the scabs that covers the wounds of caring but nothing more.