“I don’t have a plan to leave. I want a plan to get out of here. I’m don’t know where to start. I only have 96 days of obligation left to this place. Three months and three days, and that includes weekends, two stat holidays and March break. That’s only 62 “working” days. Sixty-two days where I am expected to put on pants and do something. I have to find a way to live with that because I do not have any other choices that aren’t probably twice as painful. Sticking it out is something I’ve done before. It’s something I’ll do again.
I’m not sure what the point of all this was but it’s been a disappointment. Next month I will start formulating my plan to change everything about my life. Maybe that’s the point?”
The only thing I can say is you can handle anything for a finite 96 days. Keep your eye on the prize (escape), and move *anywhere* but there, ASAP. It doesn’t have to be the perfect place, or the final place. Just get to a *different* place. I love you so much Lori. I wish I could pluck you out of your misery and plop you down in a lovely resort of your choosing with a word processor and a staff of 3 to meet your every need. Chef, masseuse, gopher.