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This morning began the way many of my mornings do now: with Whiskey Kitty launching a small but determined ambush on my hand. She wanted to grab, bite, wrestle. I countered by turning it into a game, gently grabbing her little arm and pulling her onto the bed. Then I remembered she’s still a kitten and not a professional stunt performer. So I surrendered. I let her climb up, slobber on my ear like a tiny Saint Bernard, curl into my neck, and fall back asleep with that soft, motorboat purr. Not a bad way to start a smoke-free day....

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...

So today started like a responsible adult movie montage. I woke up, laced up my invisible sneakers, and went for my morning walk. I even treated myself to two cans of tea at the store. Hydration and discipline. Look at me go. Then I walked back. Halfway home, my lungs decided to file a formal complaint. I could barely breathe. The kind of breathing where every step feels like you’re auditioning for a dramatic hospital scene. Convenient timing too, because I already had a doctor’s appointment about… my breathing. Up until now, a few doctors had waved the magic wand...

I woke up today to Whiskey Kitty performing what can only be described as a full-contact affection routine. Slobber on my ear. Snuggle attack. Then a sneeze. Then a cough. Direct hit to my face. Normally, that might qualify as grounds for a tiny feline lecture. But she’s too young to know better, and honestly, if you’re going to be germ-bombed by anyone, it might as well be by a kitten who looks like innocence with whiskers. The day started sweet, but my mind wasn’t exactly floating on clouds. I’ve got a court case hanging over me like a storm...

Today brought a small trumpet blast of good news. I’ve been contacted by the La Mirada Arts Colony to do a paid demonstration. Paid. Demonstration. Two words that make an artist’s heart do a little tap dance. I chose my specialty watercolor technique, the one that happens in the dark, where the painting isn’t just traced by line but by shape, gradient, and color memory. It’s like drawing with intuition instead of eyesight. A little nerve-racking. A lot magical. So naturally, I asked Mom if we could go to the art store to stock up on what I’d need. She...