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Monday 2/1/21 6am

      What do I have to do to get a cup of coffee in this place? It's been snowing since yesterday afternoon, and is supposed to continue into tomorrow morning. Over a foot perhaps. Why not? 2021 is just an extension of the shitshow we call 2020. Nothing surprises me. So instead of staying alone in Bangor I decided to come down to the cafe and sleep. I'm closer to my office for my last few days of work, plus the roads will likely be better here in Easton. I assume I will need to go to the hospital tonight no matter the weather. We are a hospital after all. We can't just close. Not that greeting people, accepting patient deliveries, or pointing to the elevator for the vaccine clinic is mission-critical, but it somehow fits into the machinery that is the hospital. And anything I can do to help the nurses and doctors feels like the right thing to do. They are generally good people who care hard. This virus is taking a toll on them.     But back to coffee. I'm living in a c

OK, so now what?

    Just about every morning for the past two years I've written in a journal. I have a stack of spiral-bound notebooks totaling several hundred pages of entries. Before that, I did so on and off. For at least the last eight years or so. I find it very helpful. I can talk to myself. Ask rhetorical questions. Document important events. Dissect my feelings and where they come from. I can do pretty much whatever I want because it's my journal. I often go back and skim past entries, looking for patterns, reminding myself of where I came from, and in general trying to use the journal as a source of personal growth. I have spent several New Year's Eves combing through the previous year's entries as a way to close out the old year and think ahead to the new one. What did I learn? What can I do better? That sort of thing.     Recently I decided to take a hard right turn in life - I quit my job, I'm selling my house, and I'm moving into and becoming a partner in a healin