Elizabeth

Elizabeth likes to refer to me as her surrogate daughter. And even though she makes me crazy in an all together different manner than my actual mother, I'm okay with her maternal nuttiness. She's a cool lady who would literally make me lunch every day if she could.

Last month, while running to grab the phone--Elizabeth is one of those people who runs everywhere like she's being chased by the cops--she slipped and fell, injuring the tendons in her arm so badly that the first doctor she met with advised against getting surgery. Apparently there's not a whole lot that can be done. Now she's in constant pain and can't raise her arm past her elbow. It's really bad.

Here's what I want Elizabeth to do:

1. Quit working for the company she's worked for 30 years that she is sick of working for
2. Sell her enormous house for over a million dollars and invest that money so she never has to work again
3. Get married to her awesome boyfriend who loves her and move in with him
4. Spend part of the year in New Zealand where her real daughter lives, whom she misses terribly

But Elizabeth's not having any of it. She doesn't want to quit the job she no longer likes, because she can't think about herself not working.

Ultimately, I can't live her life for her. I can only do things to make her day-to-day life a little better. So today I agreed to help her do some work at her office that involves two working arms. And I'll bite my tongue about not working for a company that doesn't appreciate her because, hello, I work in Hollywood. But I really want the silver lining in this disaster to be that she does what makes her happy...and work no longer does this for her.

I wonder when my job will fail me. I wonder if I'll quit with a roar or a wimper. I wonder if I'll quit or if I'll just become so irrelevant that what I do doesn't matter. I wonder if I'll care if that happens.