Eligible

A week age I paid $10.00 for the last of the blue t-shirts with the word 'eligible' printed on the fr0nt in bold white lettering which all the workers at my credit union, from the executive lunchroom to the teller windows, have been wearing recently. I've not worn it, but I'm using it prominently as a throw in my apartment at Honolulu Tower; however, I woke up this morning realizing I don't look forward to wearing it any time soon. If I actually were 'eligible' in the way I think about when I think of wearing the blue advertizement, I certainly wouldn't need it to spread the word. I've done an adequate job over the past 7 years of making it clear to all and sundry that my marriage was not a conventional one, and those who are aware of the passing in December of my significant other (as distinguished from my spouse)-- the wind beneath my wings as I keep repeating--must at least be mildly curious, if not actively interested, about what turns the path of my life's journey will now take. None could be more curious than I, but as the days pass I'm more and more convinced my hope is for a turning, as it were, and my intention is to aim in a direction 180 degrees from where it must seem I've been headed, in the view at least of all but the most informed and expert observers, those closest to me, with whom I compulsively share my "intentions" , in eruptive stream of conscious fashion, to the extent that I recognize them as such.
(To be continued.)