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Today I woke up late… way too late to get anything done with the healthcare system. Mom was irritated, but I reminded her—very lovingly, of course—that if she really wanted me to get things done, she could have woken me up. Classic bait-and-switch. And yes, she fell for it. Score one for the quit-smoking brain. We headed to Walmart for groceries, which—between the two of us—is basically a comedy routine where neither of us supervises the other. We wander the aisles like two unsupervised ten-year-olds, tossing every snack, treat, and candy imaginable into the cart. Ding Dongs? In. Drumsticks? Yes....

Cats aren’t dogs. Dogs want to please you. Cats want to please themselves. They’ll give you love—but only when they’re good and ready. The rest of the time? You’re just the butler, chauffeur, and personal chef. Like they meow so much in the morning to remind you to wake up feed them. They don't have a snooze button either. But here’s the thing: they absolutely know when you’re busy. The moment you sit down to work, relax, write, or—God forbid—try to use your phone… boom. Instant cat. Last night I was programming my phone when Whiskey—tiny paws, big attitude—wiggled her...

Today marks two full months since I quit smoking — sixty days, nearly nine weeks, 1,440 hours, and yes, I’m counting every single one because each one matters. Looking back, it’s hard to believe how much has changed in such a short stretch of time. There have been family rewards, moments of real healing, and the unexpected arrival of the newest member of our household: Whiskey the Kitty, my tiny fur-ball personal trainer. She has no idea she’s helping save my lungs, but she takes her job seriously. I run up and down the stairs to check on her, chase...

Today mom and I went to the storage unit to take inventory of my books. The count was about what I expected, especially considering everything I’ve lost while bouncing around in the mental health system—moves, transfers, sudden exits, and the chaos that always seems to swallow up a box or two of my life’s work. But this time, I was ready for the truth: what I had… and what I didn’t. So, naturally, I fixed the problem the way any artist-entrepreneur-lunatic-with-a-vision would—I ordered more. A lot more. I now have multiple copies of every book I’ve ever made, somewhere around...

Things are going well—better than they’ve gone in years—and it feels like I’m finally settling into a calmer, healthier version of myself just in time for Christmas. Mom and I have been bonding a lot lately, patching things up in ways I didn’t think were possible. We had some rough years, real rough, but the cancer scare shook us both awake. Suddenly the grudges, the misunderstandings, the stubbornness—none of that mattered as much as just being there for each other. And then came Whiskey the Kitty. My Christmas gift from Mom turned out to be the little cherry on top...