Monday, June 26, 2017

If Only

Party of Five recently showed up on Netflix. And it's a bit of a guilty pleasure to indulge in watching it. Aside from wondering on occasion if maybe, just possibly, the Salinger parents faked their death in a car accident just to escape their often miserable, totally self-centered kids, I'm enjoying watching it. Deep into the third season, Griffin returns to San Francisco after a months long tour on a merchant marine ship. And he's limping. Knee injury on the boat, can't do his job anymore, bam, gets fired. He's home, he's broke, and he's limping. Julia convinces him to see a lawyer, and, bam, by the next episode Griffin is a hundred grand richer. $100,000!! In his pocket!! Why did I suffer through a similar circumstance for over five years? Why did I have to go through five lawyers before the sixth one finally took my case? Why did I have to endure surgery, endless doctors and physical therapy appointments, a six hour deposition, numerous ineffective drugs for the pain and other symptoms, being told it was all in my head, submitting to pain blocking nerve shots, and going through month after month of not knowing where all of this was going to end up? Why? Only to end up with a settlement that was merely a fraction of what gets ponied up in the magical realm of television melodrama. Sigh. I've made my peace with how it all went down for me. I had my say and signed on the dotted line. I have come to accept my injuries and deal with how they limit my activities, but never my life. I take my spoon inventory daily and tackle the tasks before me. All I have to say is, a one episode wait, which was one week, and a hundred thousand bucks wouldn't have hurt my feelings one little bit. With that much dough, I expect you could buy a few extra spoons.

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