Today started with me crawling out of bed like a man twice my age and half my energy. I chugged two glasses of pomegranate juice for the prostate cancer risk, followed that with three Starbucks mocha frappuccinos, a glass of milk, and some water… and then proceeded to barf all over the backyard like a malfunctioning garden fountain.
Not my finest moment, but hey—honesty is the policy around here.
My breathing was rough too, so out came the inhaler. After that, I reached out to an old friend to let her know I’m back in town. She didn’t sound thrilled, but she did respond, which is something. Meanwhile, me and the cat stood guard over the house like a dysfunctional buddy-comedy duo while mom went to the courthouse to take care of some legal stuff involving me. (Don’t worry. I’m innocent… mostly.)
My days may seem boring on paper, but inside them is a steady grind of drawing, writing, and dealing with the fact that mortality is not just a philosophical concept—it’s knocking on my door with cancer scares and breathing issues. Strangely, facing all of this has calmed me. I’m getting along better with mom. I’m more patient. I’m less explosive. Maybe confronting the big stuff makes the small stuff easier to handle.
Like I said yesterday—the battle may be over, but the war has just begun. And I’m prepared to face every gross, shaky, breathless minute of it.
I got this.
by Dan and Bonkers
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