Regeneration X by Ellison Blackburn

rolled around, I was an editor of a well-circulated magazine and had just started working remotely. Conclusively, this is where my personality exited and hermit-dom entered. And I’ve been this uninspired person ever since.
    So you see I’ve been turning right at every bend since I was 17, the path of least resistance. It’s my own fault for being oblivious, no? I imagine everything would be different. If I’d only taken a turn with my own force, skidded and slammed into the future from the opposite side.
    Still, I wonder, how many outcomes are possible when playing the game by destiny’s rules.

Chapter Eight
    Our doubts are traitors,
    And make us lose the good we oft might win
    By fearing to attempt.
    —William Shakespeare, Measure for Measure (1.4)
    ・・・
    JANUARY 4, 2025
    For this new year I have an irrational hope that’s been edging itself forward. This hope is that something will change and the years to come will be vastly different from the many that have come before.  
    It’s not because I’ve made any resolutions; they never seem to stick. It’s something else; I can feel it. My last entry was a bit morose. Come to think of it, they all are, but I tell you I feel an underlying flicker of something.  
    Maybe Michael is secretly coming around to my idea of taking summers off to travel? Taking that particular term off isn’t unheard of and wouldn’t be difficult to manage. Or there could be some awesome project coming my way. Maybe Levy will finally decide to redesign the magazine to be not so dry. And if that isn’t what’s happening then this year could be my year for a different job entirely. I’ve been emotionally sabotaging work for so long something is bound to happen. From darkness there is light … you know?
    Then there’s the pamphlet, which I came across quite a while longer ago than I implied to Michael. The fact is I’ve been nursing that pamphlet for several months. When I first heard of Renovation I was intrigued, so I did a smidgeon of research—if only to keep up with goings-ons in healthcare. Thinking back, it’s quite mysterious why I felt the need to print the brochure out; I rarely print flat files anymore. Then somewhere along the way I began to view that little slip of paper as a kind of guilty pleasure. It was gratifying to know such a thing existed. But therein lies the dilemma, I’m generally not one to invest any hope in an elective procedure. I can’t deny that I held on to it like it was an advertisement for an easy button. In a way, I’ve been feeding my helplessness with it.
    Still, there is something I’m not seeing. Why else would it feel wrong even to think about it? In the same way I have hope of something positive, this feels as if I’m setting myself up for some major disappointment. And why was I hiding it from Michael? It makes no sense.
    What could possibly be disappointing when I’m not the cosmetic surgery type in the first place?
    There is something going on.
    Charley had another appointment with Dr. Baum around lunchtime and she was looking forward to it. Until then, it was “Cellular Stage Alteration via Genetic Engineering” and “The Future of Population Variance with Genetic Pre-selection,” which required her attention.
    She entered the doctor’s office and situated herself comfortably on the settee. She relaxed and glanced around the room as Dr. Baum finished his initial notes. She still wondered what he wrote about in those first few minutes before their meeting. Was it her appearance, manner or mood? Or was he finishing notes from his previous appointment? She doubted this last idea. Since he always took copious notes during their session, he probably did the same for all his patients. She wasn’t too shy to ask him, she just always forgot when the meat of their conversation began.
    Soon, setting his device aside, he started the discussion with an opening question, “I am curious, have you had any more dreams?”
    “Funny you