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The end is near. Am I ready?

The attending team at the urgent care facility in south Overland Park whisked me out of the facility as soon as they saw my complaint. My calf was swollen, red, hot, and painful. I could hardly walk. The doctor suspected deep-vein thrombosis, a life-threatening condition if the clot they thought was in my lower leg broke free and traveled to the heart or lungs.

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I've come to love the bomb

On days like this, my thoughts turn to the hydrogen bomb. My mind doesn’t linger on the holocaust the use of such weapons would mean. Instead, I’m thinking of it as a kind of motivational tool, a fatalist’s lament over the way the world works. The bomb is there. It’s rusting away in its silo, connected to an obsolete set of computer controls. There are madmen about who believe the bomb adds to their cumulative power. I don’t know that I’ve stopped worrying about the bomb but I know that I’ve come to love it.

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The USPS hired me when no one else would

When no one would hire me, the United States Postal Service did. Now I begin the life of a city carrier assistant, not the friendly neighborhood letter carrier, but the sub picking up the regular letter carrier’s route. It’s a tough job, and I may not make it. But it connects me with my past and in many ways is a job made for me.

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