excess baggage

During a short lull in activities around the workplace, I was shooting the climate-controlled breeze with a few colleagues.

“So-and-so decided not to pursue his career further because of his aging parents. He has to take care of them at home,” said my lady friend who has 3 children of her own, one of them pre-school. She goes home on weekends but stays in a rented apartment during working days.

Baggage; that’s all we have to show in life. Being humans we all, understandably, need contact and love. In fact that’s what make us humans in the first place. As a consequence we are indelibly linked to others. Some more so than others. Things get messed up when the latter prevents you from realizing your full potential. Inadvertently they drag you into their vortex of crippling neediness and dependence. Like a junkie jonesing for their next fix they will whine and snivel till they get your undivided attention. Against your better judgment you succumb, to the detriment of self. They chip away at your given time of existence and before you know it, an old used-up self stares back at your from the mirror.

“Where did I go?” you ask, desperately trying to rub out the crow’s feet around your eyes.

There is an urgent hammering on the door. “Can you drive me to the drug store? My arthritis is acting up again,” an all-too-familiar voice says.


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