Day 100.
That number feels heavier than it looks.
Right now, my life reads like a juggling act performed on a tightrope. I’m dealing with a criminal court case, the lingering shadow of cancer, and the daily responsibility of domesticating a kitten who has no concept of personal space or legal boundaries. If there’s a theme today, it’s fear. Not the cinematic kind, but the quiet, administrative kind. The kind that shows up in paperwork, appointments, waiting rooms, and unanswered questions.
Fear lives in systems. Courts. Doctors’ offices. Institutions designed to help, but often structured in ways that make you feel small, replaceable, or one bad day away from collapse. Today felt like navigating all of them at once, trying to stay alive, stay free, and stay sane.
I caught myself asking a dangerous question:
If everything collapses, do I start smoking again?
You’d think the answer would be an automatic yes. That’s the old script. Stress equals cigarettes. Crisis equals permission. But the truth is, I don’t actually know anymore. And that uncertainty is strange, but also kind of hopeful. It means the reflex is weakening. It means the habit no longer has full custody of my reactions.
So I’m not making predictions. I’m not promising lifelong abstinence or pretending I’ve unlocked some permanent moral upgrade. I’m just standing here, on Day 100, acknowledging that I made it this far under pressure that would have flattened me before.
Today isn’t about winning the future.
It’s about marking the present.
Day 100.
Nothing more. Nothing less.
I got this.
by Dan and Bonkers
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