Monday was my first day at the new job. Hospice. Wow. I knew that the location of the job was in the absolute sticks, but I had no clue how much I'd enjoy the commute. I go against traffic, never having to slam on brakes during rush hour. There are literally horses and cows all in the area. I like it.

I've always had a strange relationship with death, I just never thought I'd be working with people who are literally dying. Outside of the location far outside of the city, I enjoy the slower pace of my current workplace. Unlike other jobs where the goal is to keep someone alive and healthy, with this position I am painfully aware that my patients here are definitely going to die. There's no crazy ass rush and no insane amounts of paperwork. I could definitely do this forever. I haven't met my clients yet, but I'm looking forward to it.

I was, however, shocked on Friday when as we were looking in on a client, and I looked up to see the coroner rolling out a dead body. I mean, the body was covered, but still. I just wasn't ready for that. I know that this is something that I will have to get used to. It took me back to watching my cousin being carried out after he passed. I almost described the scene right here, but 1) it's still kind of a tender subject for me and 2) I'd like to respect his privacy toward the end. He was always such a proud man.

That same evening, I talked to my cousin, Ali's brother, only to learn that his dad, my uncle isn't doing very well. I think my uncle is feeling a lot of guilt, coupled with his lack of independence, and I don't think he wants to live like this anymore. I know he doesn't. My cousin is currently faced with countless decisions regarding my uncle's care. All I could do is to remind him that I'm here to support him no matter what, but his father wouldn't want to live a life of complete dependence on others.

The same evening, I was out on the town and had several near car accidents. After the brain injuries caused by my last two accidents, I'm absolutely terrified of getting hit again. I have no idea what the long term implications will be for my last two concussions and I don't want to tempt fate. After my last near crash, my nerves were absolute shit. I actually ended up having a panic attack. Wild because that was my first panic attack in years. I cut my night short and went home.

The next day, my father said something pretty fucked up to me. Big shocker, right? That moment was when it occurred to me that I need to get to a therapist soon. I will always feel like both of my parents failed me so much. With things going well (like the book, and my money, and new job), I'm starting to feel... I don't know. Like I'm trying to hold the weight of it all together, but I'm ready to topple over already. I almost wish I could just go home and stay in bed and cry until it all makes sense. But I can't. But I'm tired.

My uncle will make 5 deaths of loved ones in as many years. I understand that death is a part of life. Even the job isn't too bad, because most of the patients are elderly and have lived a long life. Even my uncle. But what about Ali? What about Andrea? What about Pete? What about me?