Caterwauling

Martin, Walter, Ian and Toby are all bosses I’ve had.

If we are going with that theme, we need to name a storm Brad. He wouldn’t bother to show up and it would be a big, expensive letdown when he did.

I don’t think about getting older. But I do spend an insane amount of time thinking about what I wouldn’t be able to do without my (admittedly decreasingly optimal) health.

Rather, I spend an insane amount of time thinking about HOLY SHIT, WHAT IF I NEVER GET TO DO ANY OF THE THINGS I’VE DELAYED.

I was just looking at some artwork in a medical establishment, done by patients, children, spouses and supporters who were/are part of this important journey.

I used to think that if some horrible diagnosis or other misfortune would befall me, I’d beat the odds.

Fuck the odds. I would be the miracle. I’d make them RECALCULATE THE ODDS.

Now … enh.

I see average people doing just fine in this world. Average students who went on to average existences. They seem happier than us ex-overachievers who have the nice cars and nervous breakdowns and questionable health to show for it.

In the face of, let’s say, not the best news, you look at a median survival rate of, let’s say, five years. I imagine many would say, “I’ll make it 25!” And I’m over here like, I can’t commit to a diet for five minutes. Dealing with something you can’t quit for five months … that may not be overcome-able even after five years … sounds pretty goddamned exhausting to me.

In any event, when faced with insurmountable things, I know the moment I stopped being the exception.

I just wonder when I stopped assuming I’d be the exception. And how that could/have changed things.