Sometimes I fantasize about my resignation letter

I think of all the ways – without my job – my life could be better

No more prescribing Ozempic 

While the patient asking for it sits there drinking soda

Or signing a handicap placard form for the millionth time – for someone who desperately needs a walk 

I’ve been a good actress for eight years 

I pushed my convictions down 

I didn’t balk 

In making people sicker or more dependent 

I think of the 80-year-old on Adderall 

Maybe this whole thing is benzodiazepines’ fault 

I feel like my whole career I’ve pretended

I don’t want to be the one they call

I’m  trying to prescribe people out of their consumerism-toxic-moral mire 

Oh, to retire 

It’s a good job, though 

I get paid for my time spent

But that’s just it – time is life 

What if my life is invaluable?

Unlike the things I buy 

Consumerism’s chains are rife

I listened to The Minimalists 

And just this week I discovered this:

I don’t need anything, not even 90% of what I own 

Maybe AI’s already got my clone 

If I get one more message about the bump on your head or your laceration that bled

Or if you tell me about your dizziness 

I can’t help you, I’m drowning in the busyness

The obituaries keep on coming 

I like to believe I’m doing something

Sure, there’s a pill for everything 

For your slew of symptoms that are existence 

This is the path of the most resistance 

My compassion long ago resigned 

I think I’m going out of my mind

I’ll sell most of my things 

Beach admission is free

So is running

It doesn’t take much to be happy

So I’m giving 120 days (per my contract)

Come November 10th, I won’t be back

I’ll be running at Waterside or maybe Richmond

There’s nothing to buy 

Here’s to livin’

Goodbye