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As I’m lacing up my shoes: “Ah! Love these Birks. Instantly fit to the feet. What does that sales girl know? The last pair I got – the black ones – last November, the results were instantaneous – Loving them perfectly from the very beginning – the solution to all my foot woes.

But then … Ouch! My arch. A little sharp pain in the bubbling well of my right foot – even with the Birks. Occurred just as I was getting off work. When was that? Hmmm? Probably the end of December – after a series of grueling shifts – when we were still doing all that dreadful lifting of boxes for the wine room banquets – Even the younger waiters complained. Boy, that sent me into a tailspin depression. Really knocked me off balance. In some ways could be considered the beginning of the end. My Body breaking down on so many fronts. All that lifting sent me under – finally it did.

And then, of course, the hike up the hill in mid February – led to excruciating arch pain – was wearing the black Birks then. Couldn’t barely stand – watching that lunar eclipse with Laurie. Boy, I showed those doctors, who thought I was ready to return to work. But now is much different. My feet are on the mend – here 2 months later - at the end of March. And everything will be fine, said the Spider to the Fly before she munched him for dinner – said the Muse to my Person before she engineered another mini breakdown, to maximize her time w/him. A cruel mistress, although passionate- ecstatic embrace- fireworks & thousands of balloons- the crowds are cheering – lifting you up on their shoulders - cheering as they call out, “Where have you been? We’ve been waiting such a very long time.” As you bow and reluctantly accept their honors.

But now… “Waiter I need more water.” & “MacCallan 10 year neat. “ & “Yes, we’ll take the two tasting menus with wine. Make it easy for you. She’ll have the vegetarian and I’ll take the one with meat.”

“Yeah, real easy. Only a thousand trips to the table – refreshing silverware and removing glassware to make way for the next wine with a whole new set of wine glasses complete with explanations. I can’t wait to put all that rigmarole behind me after I begin working full time at the Lagoon. It’ll just be a matter of time. Probably by the time summer business picks up, I’ll be able to give notice at the Casket – at last. Can’t wait. Well, I start training tonight.”

And now a new set of demands with a brand new computer system with a brand new protocol – complete w/surly busboy – who growls when you ask for assistance. And running, running as Carol, my training server, has tables in 3 rooms - juggling one against the other – all by herself, alone in the world. And “when do we have dinner?” – “Dinner? “ – “Yeah, the staff dinner?” – “We don’t have one here – cost cutting – shorter shifts. Hope you had something to eat.” – “Not really.”

Already beginning to feel faint – a bit dizzy. The survival switch is pulled. “Just make it through the night.”

Consciousness is obliterated in the attempt to comprehend the enormous amount of information coming at my Person. “The chef likes to stack the food.” – “This dish is a huge portion, while that dish is small.” – “This one comes with spinach – that one with asparagus.” – “This one has a rich sauce – that one is light.” – “This has a plum demi-glace; that one a sweet and sour sauce.” – “Oh and always mention … because there are lots of complaints if not.” – “And don’t forget … or the cooks will get mad.” – “Now this is very important to the owner.” And so on and so forth.

As my Person’s head is already filled to overflowing with the Casket’s menu descriptions, which are equally new. The information doesn’t even drip in, but flows right over the side. And I’m beginning to fog up & lose consciousness. Mental clarity is a state of the distant past.

And now the pain in my feet is increasing. Each step I take is like a knife in the right arch or the left heel.

“Never been this bad before. Keep smiling. Don’t let on. Remember this is your dream job after all – your route to freedom from the Casket. Aaiiieeeee!”

& the Torture continued.

“We need to fold some more napkins. We don’t want to leave them short for tomorrow.”

“Uh, Could we sit down somewhere.”

“There really isn’t anywhere. Besides it won’t take long.”

The cacophony of internal voices rises to a frenzy of conflicting directions.

“Admit your feet are killing you. They’ll show compassion.”

“No, No. A thousand times No. I must appear brave and strong. Spiritual masters never experience any pain, And I’m obviously a spiritual master. Aaaiiieeee! Agony.”

In the mist of the primeval mud I began to realize in a slug like fashion that maybe, just maybe, the sales girl had been correct about my Brown Birks. But in the midst of the hypoglycemic crash combined with information overload & excruciating pain every time I took a step – and even worse when I stood still ––this awful dull ache which sucked away my life force – coming as it did from my Bubbling Well, the source of my vitality. My Root had been broken – Again. In the midst of these agonies my Person was still clinging onto his nearly shattered dreams of escaping from the Casket.

I was regressing at a raid rate, but Masculine pride, as it is, I couldn’t admit my frailty and continued until the bitter end – my descent into Hell. After wishing everyone a cheery goodbye and ‘see you tomorrow’ – all with a plasant smile - pinched by the wrinkles of pain. Made it safely to the car and home. Darn! A fatal car accident to put me out of misery might have been nice. But somehow make it home.

“How was it?”

Without response – without brushing my teeth I plopped into bed – wondering how I could possibly go on.