BILL CADY Word Count: 149,227 - At My Friend's Place

Bill Cady, The Early Years … by Bill Cady 281
Someone who, in the grand scheme of things, isn‟t a damned bit better than the patient.
Almost certainly a great deal wealthier, but still not a damned but better. Someone who,
if he calls me by my first name, better expect the same in return. If not, he can call me
Counselor Cady. If I have to call him doctor, that freakin‟ street goes two ways.
“I think your problem, or problems, are all vocabulary related.”
Okay, I had a handle on that one. What he meant to tell me was wait a sec.
Just exactly what the hell did he mean by that? My response may well have formed a
significant part of my lifelong speech pattern, so this could be a noteworthy date for more
than one reason. I came right back at him. “Huh?”
“You‟ve apparently never learned to say „fuck it‟.” He drew on his cigarette and
awaited my reply.
The outrageous thud of my young chin hitting the floor with such velocity may
well have startled the nurses up front, but it never phased ol‟ Ralph G. a bit. Going ahead
with my best reaction, I again said, “Huh?”
“When you‟ve done the best you can with something, with anything, and you
can‟t do it any better right now, then fuck it, Bill. Put it aside and go on with your life
until whatever it is needs your attention again.”
He drew on his cigarette, then flicked ashes I feared would land on his desk,
maybe even on him, into an ashtray. “If you‟ve done all you can do, if you‟ve done your
best, fuck it. To worry and fret after that means you‟ll only drain away your own energy.
Doing it that way means, the next time you face that problem and you will face it
again you won‟t be as strong, won‟t be as ready and prepared, as you would‟ve been if
you just said „fuck it‟ and went on with your life.”
Leviticus, Limited 33-0505963