The musings of a madman...

  As the two of you well know, my dumb ass thought I was told I had 24 hours to live one time last month. As you may or not have observed in these here pages over the past several years, I took this information and made a simple misunderstanding into an absofuckinglute PROBLEM for a bunch of people.  The vessel of the worst of those problems, naturally, being myself. It stands to reason that NOT having only a day to live is actually a pretty good thing, y’all.  I can thank my now-21-month commitment to my health and fitness.  My doctors are actually kind of wowed at my laser focus and refusal to chill out on my regimen.  Needless to say, I **should** have more than 24 hours left on this spinning rock. …  but there is some fallout from my actions and that is an absolute problem, because I have ABSOLUTELY burned some bridges here in a city that I cannot afford to leave. One thing I never do is sit around wondering where my exes are living or what they are up to.  What I do know is

       What would you do if you were told you had 24 hours to live? Since my cardiac event that landed me in the hospital Summer 2018, I have been dealing with a minefield of doctor and specialists visits usually about every other month. Since the exact cause of my episode could never be pinned down, we keep an eye on everything from my blood pressure, to my asthma and even my kidneys. No stone gets left unturned and, when combined with my recent obsession with sobriety and my physique, shit works out pretty well on a month-to-month basis. Three weeks ago, I got a phone call… Me: “Hello.” Nurse: “Hi, this is your nurse from Dr Samuel’s office.” Me: “Okay” Nurse: “Dr Samuel is going on vacation next week and wants to get you in as soon as possible. You have 24 hours to give blood at the lab so he can review it before he leaves.” Did she say what I think she said!?   Me: “I have–… 24–… hours?” Nurse: “Yes” Me: “Well I guess I got no choice, lemme make some arrangements and deal wi