Four Main Courses

23 01 2018

Your Blogmeister’s Secret Hideout

More than a week after the restoration of most of my short term memory, and after about a week of finally being able to pick up the pieces of my life, I now know that for awhile, I’m going to have four major serial concerns.  All four of them play into each other and dynamically relate to each other in various ways.

They are:

(1) Continuing physical and cognitive recovery, or lack thereof, and the threat of my overall condition of my recovery or various parts of it sliding back downhill.  The doctors have already floated the trial balloon with me that, if my recovery either stalls or backslides, that I could become a clinical trial guinea pig, and doing that may require me to live somewhere other than St. Louis for an extended length of time.  It would be the kind of thing where it wouldn’t hurt me at all if I did, because if I stall or backslide, I’m screwed anyway, which means even if the clinical trial regimen doesn’t work, it won’t matter anyway.

(2) Going back to work.  First off, there’s the matter of what precisely I would be doing, because, as you all know, my startup is gone.  This is related to my recovery, because what precisely I would be able to do depends on how well I can continue to recover physically and mentally, if I do at all.

(3) The incendiary gossip monger I have referenced here a few times since mid-November.  Just about everything relating to that, I have to keep under the vest, for legal reasons and other reasons.  But, at such a time when I’m able to tell all, it’s going to floor you.  I already know based on hard copy and hard-ish copy proof that the incendiary gossip crossed the blood-brain barrier into the social circles of my professional networks.  What my lawyer has to calculate now is if:  (A) The incendiary gossip monger had any idea that that which he was spewing was untrue, or (B) If the obvious ridiculousness of the gossip itself should have informed the reasonable person about its untruthfulness, and (C) The realistic notion that this gossip making my way into my professional life actually materially hurt me.  Even though I used “gossip monger” in the singular sense, I really should have used the plural, because he who I know was peddling this gossip most likely didn’t come up with it himself.  Netting this all out, when all these factors are mashed up together, it will ultimately determine if one or more people will soon be having a friendly meeting with a process server, or not.  I’ll also add that this relates to the last item, because, even if none of this rises to the legal level of civil lawsuit territory, it may well have risen to the level of ruining my professional reputation, which means that, if I can recover well enough not to need constant companionship, i.e. I can live on and exist on my own, I’m going to have to consider the prospects of leaving St. Louis for good to start all over again professionally speaking, if I can ever arrive at the point of being able to go back to work.

To beat all, the gossip monger has had the shameless audacity to get in my e-mail inbox at least once since the restoration of my short term memory.  It’s as if he doesn’t think I actually found out about what he’s been up to with his mouth and keyboard, and it’s as if he doesn’t think that I have a lawyer who gave me the same advice I gave myself before he gave it to me, that is, not to say word one to this person.  (Norm also gave me the same advice, but I was well ahead of him, too.)  Odds are that if I would have read the gossip monger’s e-mail instead of deleting it, I would have found an apology, banking on the notion that he thinks I did find out.  Problem is, sorry is a word, contrition is an action.  This person is very often sorry, but never contrite.  If you can’t figure out what I mean by that, he’s sorry enough to say he’s sorry every time he pulls something like this with his fire-ready-aim mentality (even though the previous things were nowhere near this bad), but never sorry enough to quit doing it, especially “he” is north of sixty years old, which means if he’s still doing it at this late age, he’ll never stop.  I’d take the actions of contrition over every instance of “sorry” ever said or written, eight days out of seven every week.  Otherwise, with the gossip monger in question, if he actually did try to peddle off another “sorry” on me, and I was sap enough to accept it just like I was sap enough to accept it the many times before now, the next doozy would have been that I was really on the grassy knoll.

(4) The fifteen round bout that the lawyer is about to start with the basement dweller’s insurance carrier.  Just in case you’re wondering, a potential insurance settlement is one of four identified funding sources that affect neither me nor my relatives nor taxpayers, meaning money and bills are and will not be a problem.  However, this relates to the other items here, because the less well I recover, the more I’ll have to rely on these sources for money and income for the rest of my life, which means the lawyer is going to need a better long term prospectus of my condition, because the worse it is, the more bargaining power he has in and out of court.

Everything beyond that is a trifle.

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2 responses

23 01 2018
Life Takes a Bite Out of Your Blogmeister (Pinned Post, Newer Content Follows Below) | Countenance Blog

[…] Four Main Courses — My serial concerns as of late January […]

28 02 2018
Seventh Month of Recovery | Countenance Blog

[…] you can deduce from this, relating to something I wrote here in the latter part of last month, is that, as it turned out, while the gossip monger’s gossip did indeed get around in my […]

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