Mish-mash in the MixMaster

I originally came downstairs to my 'office' to work on the ghost story some more, and found a mouse in one of the mousetraps around my desk. It wasn't dead.

So, what do you do with a mouse so broken - and it was. Flushing it down the drain seems like adding insult to injury. But how to best put an end to it's misery? I might have summoned my house cat to take over, except we no longer have a house cat. So, squarely upon my shoulders the responsibility sits.

One of the hardest things in the world to do is to watch something die, even something as small and pestiferous as a mouse. When I hunted I always made sure the thing I killed died quickly. And I always felt that pain. I made sure that I never forgot that pain. I made a promise to myself that if I ever stopped feeling that pain I would stop hunting. I haven't stopped hunting, as much as I haven't been able to arrange for the trips. In other words, my not hunting is more circumstantial than intentional. Now you know a little bit more about me.

Also know that I've been fighting heart failure for the last few years; about a year ago I had a defibrillator/pacemaker implanted. Unlike Tony Stark, I did not come back as Iron Man. Life is. The long and short of it is: I have a personal understanding of how fragile life can be.

Add to this, how do I continue to work until I can finally take retirement? My plan to work for as long as I can has taken a different twist: as long as I can now means can I at least reach the full retirement age before dying? If that had been at the original 65-years-old, I'm there, and I can retire and pace myself a little better. Unfortunately, The Social Security goalposts have been moved: I now need to be at least 66 and four months old to retire with full benefits. 

I may not get there, or I might have to quit working sooner. My current job is not that hard, physically, but can be very stressful. And I have to juggle my medication regime around it. That caught up with me a couple of weeks ago, and I ended up in the hospital. One week of pay missing as a consequence, never mind the bills. At least the food was good.

What can I do?

I can find another job. That is a give-and-take: would I get as good insurance benefits as I do now? Could I even get the group insurance?

In a lot of ways I'm hostage to the corner of the envelope bracketed by age, bills, family needs, and a few other what-have-yous. These are my negatives. It's hard to see the positives.

Especially when I see a mouse pinned and broken in a mouse trap. It kind of became a metaphor for my life. 

I hate death. I am not afraid of death, or dying; got over that a while ago. I still hate death, though.

Dylan Thomas was right: "Go not gentle into that good night. / Rage, rage against the dying of the light."

Yes, you can