Half Way Home

Star Date 17092016

This title should not be confused with a halfway house, which is an entirely different thing. This should also not be confused with home. …as in the catchy little tune of the same name, as sung by Marc Broussard.

Today marks 20 days in and or 20 days left until surgery. I should have something similar to just the vertical portion of the incision in this pic…just the vertical. I will be a zipper head.

vertical NOT horizontal

As best I can tell, it could actually remove the ‘crow’s feet’ on that side. I could, albeit unlikely, look at least a year younger. I look at this and think about all the post-surgery scars I have, the two largest of which run down my lower spine. I do not see them, nor does anyone else. I forget about them except for the nagging reminder of the general aches and pains that are associated with such things. I see this and …well…I want bacon. Too many visits to Herb Brittner’s? Blasphemy. I gaze upon this and think about the all new headache I will have. I descry this and wonder if I should purchase a do-rag or two. Nah. Harley beanie. Yep. Settled. I behold this scar and just want Charlie out.

The Home song is not the song I awoke with in my cranium. Nope. That would be by One Republic:

“I Lived” Hope when you take that jump, you don’t fear the fall Hope when the water rises, you built a wall Hope when the crowd screams out, they’re screaming your name Hope if everybody runs, you choose to stay

Hope that you fall in love, and it hurts so bad The only way you can know is give it all you have And I hope that you don’t suffer but take the pain Hope when the moment comes, you’ll say…

I, I did it all I, I did it all I owned every second that this world could give I saw so many places, the things that I did With every broken bone, I swear I lived

Hope that you spend your days, but they all add up And when that sun goes down, hope you raise your cup Oh, I wish that I could witness all your joy and all your pain But until my moment comes, I’ll say…

I, I did it all I, I did it all I owned every second that this world could give I saw so many places, the things that I did With every broken bone, I swear I lived

Oh [4x]

With every broken bone, I swear I lived. With every broken bone, I swear I…

I, I did it all I, I did it all I owned every second that this world could give I saw so many places, the things that I did With every broken bone, I swear I lived.

Ironically, for all the surgeries I have had, not a one are associated with broken bones. In point of fact, the only broken bones I have suffered required no surgery. In addition, the date of those broken bones is rapidly approaching. 28 September. I have been in two motorcycle accidents in all the years I have ridden. Both occurred on 28 September, one year apart. The first was minor but cost over three grand to repair the bike…a rental…on Maui. I have four words for you: get the optional insurance. The second accident happened on a blind corner in Sedona, AZ. La, la, la…I was riding along (ref the awesome movie, that is Tommy Boy). Tight corner, sand, two wheels. No I was not speeding. Bike wanted to go straight. I wanted to turn left…you know…as the road was taking me. Alas, bike won. Large red face of mountain in front with a side of large boulder on right. Apply brakes evenly, and  presto…Right leg caught by foot peg on boulder which kept me from going face off bike into said side of mountain. Three broken ribs…the useless ones at the bottom of the cage, blood oozing down my nose, and a sprained ankle. No, I was not wearing a helmet. It was Sedona, in case you forgot. Thankfully, as busy as the area was, people did not hit me, and did stop to see if I was okay. I was walking…a little out of breath. Actively bleeding between my ojos. I walked across the street. Felt pretty good considering. Rode my bike to the local pharmaceutical supply. Purchased the fixins to heal thyself. Applied said fixins. Bleeding stopped. Rode the bike…which was totaled by all accounts, many miles back to the hotel. Immediately stopped in lobby bar for liquid medicine, followed by bed. Awoke to having to crawl to bathroom. Iced my ankle that morning then decided it was severely sprained and I should maybe have it gazed upon by an qualified professional. Some hours later, ribs still hurt and leg was in cast…bright pink leg cast. It was going to be on for all of booby awareness month…and a good portion of turkey month. Good times. Helped install a floor a day later, and was up on a ladder working, the following weeks…in the cast. Moral of the story? I do not ride my bike on 28 September.

A mostly quiet eve in the house, last night. Some heavy conversation about life, death and the lack of possibility of death…at least from surgery and post surgery. Paperwork to fill out. A will. Advanced directive. Power of attorney. Wait…what is that? The gas bill…are you serious? ugh. Wait…we owe nothing, and we still have $146 credit on the account? Sweet. We should buy a lottery ticket. Ricci’s kielbasi and oven-baked fries for dinner. Mmm, mmm good. Okay, so the conversation surrounding such things was not fun. It was necessary. I, on the other hand, have been struggling with basic math in recent months/weeks. I do not, nay, have not ever given consideration to the numbers behind my life. Bills, medical or otherwise. Jess considers all things….especially numbers. I have learned…mostly…that as much as I want to ignore the numbers part of this shitshow, Jess cannot and will not ignore them on my or our collective behalf (halves). So, as we are discussing such things last night, it dawns on me that I am…was…disrespecting her by not taking care of the numbers part of this. The forms. My approach has been more of an ‘it’ll all work out’ style. This is commonly referred to as ignoring…the elephant in the room. In my mind, I am picturing me healing. Walking, talking, laughing. Normal…okay…my version of. In hers, and to her credit and sound mind, she is doing what normal people refer to as ‘planning.’ Weird. My plan is simple: I get good meds, fall asleep, wake up, eat, walk, home. Back to life. Back to work = normal life. All else is still intact. Never missed a beat. So. Where I feel the struggle here, is that Jess…as usual, was able to eloquently explain her needs in this quirky place neither of us planned on, but she is planning for. I am on her page. Why, oh why, can’t I (ref to Over The Rainbow) find words that Jess and likely many others, to express that all will be okay? I can see how this turns out. I read the end, as I always do. My frustration is not with Jess at all, it is with my inability to communicate effectively with her. To show her that I am my own Iron Man, Deadpool, Wolverine combo…with none of the healing power. However, I do have a fellow Asian cutting Charlie out, whom I would put up against the likes of Jarvis. Folks, here is an illustration to assist the men out there who are as retarded as I am:

me – (Up on roof of our two story home) – I can fly.

Jess – (smiling and with a supportive tone) Hey hon. Whatcha doin?

me – I am going to fly…to soar like an eagle off this roof, and land gracefully on the driveway.

Jess – Are you sure about this? I do not see that you have calculated for either propulsion, uplift, wind speed, ability to glide, soar, or otherwise.

me – I got this. I am an eggle (which is how I say eagle…whether it be Giant or regular…for those of us on the Eastern side of the nation).

Jess – I’m gonna run back in and grab some paperwork for you to sign…um…ya know…because you are not thinking.

me – I have given this a great deal of thought. Just look how beautiful today is. Sun is out, but with just the right amount of cloud cover. It’s cool, but not cold. The birds are singing. I have a happy, little ditty in my head. Pear-fect (ref movie, The Last Samurai).

Jess – (Holding a ream of paper in her hand, and my favorite throw away writing implement, which I have been unable to find for a week. Why? She had it in her purse with the 4 others from the house). Hey, babe. I need you to sign these please.

me – (Hands on hips and gazing across the vast sky) I’ll be right down.

Jess – Sign first, then down.

me – ugh. Why can’t I just have my eggle moment?

Jess – Babe, you can do whatever you want once you sign everything. (still smiling)

me – Alright…send them up.

Intermission – I climb down from roof, devise a very elaborate rope, pulley, bucket apparatus to haul paperwork up to roof to sign. Jess calmly hands me the pen and paperwork, as I am on the ground with her currently and there is no need for said apparatus that would cost additional money and several trips to Home Depot. I sign all paperwork, kiss my betrothed, and ascend the ladder.

me – (asking permission) Can I fly now?

Jess – You are an amazing man. You can do whatever you want.

me – (looking lovingly down …not condescending, but as it pertains to direction…to Jess) You are always so supportive of my stupid.

Jess – I know.

me – I’m gonna get a running start…create that opportunity for uplift that you spoke of.

Jess – great idea hon. Can you wait a sec? I am getting a little hungry and am gonna get some cabbage, kale, tomato soup that I just made. You wanna try it?

me – (audibly gagging) Uh…I think I will pass, as I am fairly certain that meal will for you.

Jess – Always about pooping with you, isn’t it?

me – well…yes and no. Pooping yes. Pooping with me, never.

Jess – (now back with snackies) So…I’ve got other stuff to do, are you gonna jump…er…fly already?

me – I got this. Here I go.

I get the running start, but dammit if my ruptured plantar plate…it is inhibiting my ability to propel from the ridge of the roofline….did I just catch a nail popping out of the shingle…I’m gonna have to climb back up when I’m done and fix that or we will have a leak right above our heads when we are trying to sleep. I feel good about my trajectory here. Oh yeah. Arms out…no need to flap, I’m an eggle. I soar…to the ground…in a clump of brown and red. Assume the fetal position. No crying…there’s no crying in flying (reference A League of Their Own). Pondering the pain.

Jess – Oh…Babe….you okay? Need anything? Thirsty? Are you sure you don’t wanna try this soup? It’s amazing. BTW, you looked really good. I am soooo surprised you didn’t land farther away from the house, or say…on the grass.

me – well…(checking for teeth)…I wanted the most uninhibited area to land, so the driveway made more sense…at the time. You are right, the grass would have been a slightly better option.

Jess – Need anything? Should I have David come over and help you up?

me – No…I’m good. Besides it’s 0900 on a Saturday morning, you know he’s already drunk. The only way we could get him over here to help is if your mom were still here.

Jess – Good point. I’d ask Tom to come help, but he’s a bit of a dick.

me – I agree, but it’s because he was an engineer and has no sense of humour (yes, I would still go with the our for humour), he will only judge me and be jealous of my abilities to fly.

Jess – mmmmhmmm. Yes…I’m sure that is it.

me – Good thing I wore the brown shorts (reference to Deadpool)

Jess – (even she cannot help but laugh at that comment) laughing

me – I don’t care who you are, that shit is funny.

Jess – You about done being 15?

me – likely not. Did you watch me fly? I looked just like an eggle.

Jess – Well…I saw you land, and you looked more like an eggle (matching my eggle as to show her profound respect for and of me) that was still in its egg. But you looked really good doing it.

me – (still in fetal position and coughing up …what the…is that blood?) You said doing it. hehe.

Jess – (smiling…not the good smile…the you’re an idiot smile) Was that a nail sticking out up there?

me – yeah. Totally F’ed my takeoff.

Jess – You are going to address that nail before you come in and shower, right?

me – yes dear. Of course, I am.

Jess – (placing hand ever so gently on my head and kissing me softly …and in an all business tone…but not suit). So, you see why I had you sign all that paperwork? Now I can call for an ambulance and it’ll be paid for, as will your inevitable hospital stay.

me –  I couldn’t have done this without you.

The End.

I believe that is…as it is just hitting me…why I feel so comfortable with the outcome of this stupid-ass surgery. I have focus. I have my God. There are days I would likely walk out of the house with my CK boxer briefs, over my pants. If not for Jess to stop me, I would be a superhero…no…wait…I would be an idiot. She keeps me (most of the time) from being an idiot.

For those who think I planned to write this all out…or any of the past 20 days or upcoming 19, don’t kid yourselves. I don’t plan for sh**. …Slight exaggeration there. I do plan for sh**. I am like clockwork. Surgery will change that too, most likely. I would like to be someone who only poops once a week. Who are these people and how do they possibly feel good? Like ever, feel good? I don’t get it. I was saying before I was saying. None of this is or has been planned. Charlie talks and I listen. Jess talks, and I definitely listen. …or have been learning to do so. My point at this early point in the day, is that I do not see inside Jess’s head anymore than she sees in to mine; however, she is far better at communicating what she needs and wants, as compared to me. Now, if only she could interpret my gibberish in to words that match the painting (albeit finger) in my gourd.

In other news, I have heard from a mostly reliable source, that I will go through pillow cases at an increased rate. No, not from consuming said cases for said pillows, but rather from the seepage of my head wound. In an effort to thwart my DNA on the whiteness of the fluffy pillows, I made an Amazon purchase of no less than six, zippered pillow covers. In addition to this intelligent purchase, I also invested in additional beech pillow cases. I was going to go with red, as I was prone to think red would not show red. Nay, I say. Red shows all. Black and dark blue will be less likely to show blood. Don’t ask how I know, just know that I know. Furthermore, know that I know fabric. Nothing should touch my noggin cept it be the beech pillow case. Alas I was mocked by my wife as she was a doubter at one time. Then I acquired a beech sheet set (say that fast, five times…no, not all of it…just the ‘beech sheet set’ portion). To say it feels like silk would be a lie. …which…silk makes my hands feel instantly dirty…it is weird. To say beech feels like the sound of the word silk and how silk should feel…that would be more accurate. Glorious. I …or perhaps Charlie…hopefully, it is me…I can tell most wearable fabrics from a distance…quite a distance, as I have 20/10 vision. …yep…just like an eggle. Hopefully Charlie doesn’t change that, either. I am a fan of the 50/50 tees. This should not be confused with a 50/50 tease. …I don’t even know what that would be, but given Urban Dictionary, I would suggest that it exists. More recently, I am a bigger…nay…I say biggest…as in fondest…fan of the 50/25/25 tee. What is this I speak of? Friends, countrymen, the rest of you…it is 50 coton (yep…one ‘T’…hecho en El Mexican), 25 poly (do you know how many polyesters die, annually?)….and …drum roll….25 of the rayon. I have two words for you here: stretchy heaven. Yep. No other way to describe this luxurious blend of trifecta jubilee for your upper parts. Stretchy heaven. Make no mistake about it, this is durable wash after wash. It doesn’t pill. Feels like legal, public pajama wear. Just sayin.

On an other note, I picked up orthotics, yesterday. Is it because I am 80, with bunions, corns, or the like? Nay. It is because I am falling apart. You may recall the plantar fracture. Yep. You may also recall that one of the very first Charlie v. ATOI was at the orthotics office. Whereupon I had a terse conversation with the person at the desk, regarding my insurance. Guess what? Got to do a little voo Sade. …jew va day…du ja oy vey…deja vu. Got to have the insurance conversation with the same person…again. Thankfully her memory kicked in…only after much explaining on my part. Orthotics may be akin to insurance. You pay out the a** for something that lasts a year and you really do not know if it works. Mark it on your calendars, folks. …Foot surgery is a comin. Stupid foot. Cut it off…I’ll grow another.

Fast backward. Sam called last night. On her way to class…supposedly…okay…likely. Said she is loving her new internship/job thingy. Props to my T2. Props to both my T’s. They are having amazing years separately…but together…apart. Anywhozalbees, Sammer’s called to say that Charlie got the ultimate win, so it is with that news, that Charlie vs. ATOI will end. Final score 13-2. Wait…13…weren’t we just at 11.5-2? Why yes, yes we were. Sam called to say she was telling a boss type male person, about her dad and her dad’s tumour. Said boss man….wait for it…wept. On the spot. …Now…I know what you’re thinking. …that is insensitive on my part…yep..I do not care. What I care about is winning. Point goes to Charlie. Next question. No…it should not be 12.5-2 as a final score, Norm. Yes…I admit my math has been off kilter, recently. The .5 to make this 13 and final…as 13 is a lucky number in my culture….is for getting the guy ….a full growed man type guy…to cry. Openly and in a public place…rupture his ocular water sacks. Winner, winner, chicken finger dinner. Jess says we are on a budget….no real chicken…just fingers. Wait a minute…chickens don’t have fingers. Is this the neighbor’s cat? I didn’t know you could cook like an Asian…not to be confused with cooking an Asian.

Spotlight. I am pretty sure I left off with Les, as it pertains to timeline. I had been with Firestone for a while and Jess for a bit. Jess basically double-dog dared me to move from NorCal to Indianapolis, IN. She might have thrown in, in a completely non-ultimatum and non-threatening way, that we had zero future unless I was in the same state with her. I agreed. Round about the Yuletide season, I was planning a visit to the corn-hole filled state of IN. It just so happens I was invited to interview for a position in the esteemed department of Warranty Claims, within FS. Hmmmm, I says to myself, I can kill dos pajaros with uno rocko. Movein’ on up to the East side (reference theme to TV show the Jefferesons….Wheezy!). Move up in FS and keep Jess from dumping my old a**. I flew in for to stay a spell…Christmas and meeting Jess’s Ma. Happened to get an interview a few days before Christmas. My (spoiler alert) soon-to-be new boss was explaining the job, processes, and lastly, the people in the department. He had told me the gent I would be working alongside was a good guy…quirky, but good. He added that Rob H had a very interesting and odd sense of humour. I met the gent I was replacing, and Rob H was nowhere to be found…a glimpse into my future? Perhaps. New boss takes me, retiring replacement, and Rob out to lunch. As the joint was on the cusp of a particular township, smoking was allowed in said establishment…A place that I will give no name to, as it does not deserve one. Gent I was replacing was a huge fan of carcinogens…thus the place. Imagine every server looking like older, older versions of Flo…from the TV show Alice. Yep. Rob was a few minutes late to the party. In walks a fella about my height, shaved down hair on the verge of baldingish. Hip glasses. Bright orange pullover. Black slacks and black shoes. Black mustache and goatee. A good looking fellow…hmmmm…slightly resembles….me. Sh**. I do not recall his first words, only that I was trying to figure out his ethnicity, and that my new boss said something that Rob immediately quipped to, that had all of us laughing. About three weeks following that terrible, smoke-filled meal (BTW, I should mention that Rob H is a vegetarian who partakes of an annual …not anal…county fair turkey leg), I was still trying to figure out what ethnicity Rob was…oh, and I was working adjacent to him. Rob is brownish…like me. I believe him to be black, but do not know him well enough to ask…nor are there rumours in the building of him being hung. So I ask a couple of friends in the building. One agrees with his being black, the other says Iranian…really? Over the few short years together at FS, Rob and I not only got our work performed, surpassing all others in the field, but laughed till we cried…pretty much every single day. Stupid stuff. 15 year old boy stuff. Stuff no one else got. Movies, TV, music. Life. Jess and I spent almost a day of every weekend with the H’s. The ladies would have their intelligent conversations and Rob and I would enjoy bourbon and Bugs Bunny on the youtubes. Re-hash the week, and laugh all over again. This quirky and odd person…as previously described by others…was and is my BFFLE. …best friends for like evar. It is funny to look back on all the moves I have made to different places. My thoughts are never about sadness of leaving a place, just my people. My adopted family. The move to Pitts and away from Rob was a truly somber day. What? Oh…Rob is black. …only as it pertains to him being hung. I once got way too close to him at a mud run…something he subjected me to. Rob had brought a portable shower with him to the event. His wife took photos of him showering and me holding up the “curtain” …in a dirt parking lot. Don’t judge me…I’d avert your eyes when you meet him. It’s like Medusa’s head…one look and you’ll get rock hard…so to speak. Rob and I have a mutual friend and sister, Kim, who is black. She will be up next, but is tied to Rob…not literally. You see, coffee breaks in our cluster of cubes, was typically spent with Rob and me at our desks. I would be eating spoonfuls of Skippy Super Chunk out of the container. Rob? He would be eating either leftover fish…at 8 in the morning…much to the chagrin of the rest of the building, or more often than not, soup. Soup from a can and typically from a thrift store. I am not making this up. Remember the outfit I described Rob having been adorned in, when we met? Yep. The tops would oft change, the bottoms never did. Always clean, but never different than the very pair I met him in. His answer? We go on roofs, up ladders, down ladders…we kneel down in filth and muck. FS refuses to give us a clothing allowance but has us in the same group with tech reps (those who inspect roofs, post-installation). I’m not wearing good clothes since FS doesn’t cover me…both literally and figuratively. Solid point. He never did. I admire the hell out of that. As I was saying, coffee break…oh…BTW…if you are a smoker at FS, you get a ten minute break to go smoke…every hour of the day. If you do not smoke, you are confined to the uncomfortable chair at your cube. Sidebar to that sidebar. About a year in to my employ, I borrowed a chair from a conference room…the conference room was dedicated to be renovated and I liberated the object. Sidebar to that sidebar’s sidebar. The VP of our particular portion of FS…and a doppelganger to Mr. Burns…from the Simpsons, would walk by my cube around once a week. He would often stop to exchange smart ass comments…truly…He advised me that I needed to re-dedicate the chair to the conference room on the 5th floor, as that is where all its friends went to live. I did not do so. …not for six months of him telling me to do so, at least once a month. He finally did say he was serious. Got it. Why so serious (reference The Dark Knight)? I moved said seat to the upper floor and as I was there before most, I scoured the two upper floors for a new anal cushion from whence I could give away and or keep FS’s precious shekels. What is this? A whole section of new cubes has ergonomic chairs…including said VP. I promptly found an old chair in a dusty cube, rolled it to the VP’s office, and took his chair. I had it for the remainder of my days at the Rock. He never once questioned me about it. Walked by my cube one day and laughed out loud, shaking his head. “Don’t worry, I got a brand new one.” …he kept walking, but I called back to him, “I wasn’t worried at all. I knew you’d get a new one.”  Later that day I received an email from him with the subject line: I need your help. In the body of the email….one word. A**hole.

Where was I…oh yeah…coffee breaks. Rob and I…though not voracious dancers…were and are, still given to the beat. It is because of this that people would bring said cups of coffee on said breaks, over to our cubes. Not so much. Folks would come spend a few minutes with us…mostly, if not all Rob. At any given moment during the day, Rob and I would be given to fits of laughter. Typically out of the blue. Apparently it caused a bit of a concern from others that they had to come see for themselves. It was during one of these sessions that Kim B came over. Somehow we got on the topic of Rob being black…BTW…if we haven’t given the real answer to this question, Rob is a merry Mex…full of the magical fruit. The more you eat…well..you get the point. Kim gave both Rob and I very motherly, scolding type looks. Stomped her foot and said, “Rob is not black.” Cleared it right up for the entire floor. Hilarious. …and …more to the point, Rob is commonly referred to as “Not Black Rob.”…. It is not a frequent occurrence that allows for men of a certain age to become brothers. Without a doubt to anyone, anywhere, at any time, that Rob and I are brothers. Appearance. Words. Laughter. Cut off my head and Rob’s grows back. Cut off his junk, and mine grows back…Sorry Rob…I’m Asian. Virtual twins. FYI, for those attending Charlie’s coming out party. For one night and one night only, Rob H and his lovely bride will be in attendance….all the way from Chicagoland. Sidebar. Our former boss…not the one who introduced us, but the replacement boss…of whom we despise, believes there truly is a Chicagoland…Although when asked to point it out on the Google map…alas, cannot. More importantly, he cannot figure out why he cannot find it. Black to Rob…er ….back…Thrifty in nature, there is nothing…and I mean nothing, Rob would not do for a friend…or a stranger…or a strange friend. I’ve not met another like him.

Fast forward. Spent the last five hours on the bike…no…not peddling. That would be ridiculous. My coworker (and friend) has a bike. Went nowhere special and it took five hours to get to nowhere and back. I currently sit on our back porch, with my other friends. Charlie is kicking my arse:

Are those poop bags? Yep.

Tank requested to be part of the eve. He made a hefty deposit, post-meal of the finest kibble uh-mer-cans can make. Thankfully the breeze is blowing toward a neighbor we aren’t fans of. Bonus. First time on the bike in a while, and perhaps the last for the season, pending weather and such. It felt good to be out of the rain (reference America – Horse With No Name). It was nice to not think about anything but others trying to or not trying to turn me in to a spot on the road…not to mention (although clearly mentioning now) the large spot it would have left in my denims. Not enough OxyClean for that sort of accident. It was just nice not to have to think. Also very nice to be home and in shorts. Okay…so I didn’t shut off Charlie’s thinking system, altogether. I was reflecting on my friendships…my extended family, as I say. For those of you who are newer friends, and perhaps for those who have stuck with me for a longer span of time, I realized I say things about my friends like: one of a kind, or no one like them, etc. I trust that you will all recognize a very transparent thing about me. You are my family. Some who have not been spotlighted as of yet, are not as keenly aware as those who have been around a number of years, but you are my blood. You are the reason I started this blog for this particular portion of my journey. I am not anything but ordinary without you in my life. You…make this journey twist and turn for my particular tributary. I trust that the younger generation that is reading this, is aware that I would kill for them…or their fathers, as most are daughters. The middle-aged group is fully aware of the kinship. The AARP group…Norm and one or two others…may not be so aware.

caro de carne mea , sanguis sanguinem.

This is what I thought about on my trip. So, I do not use language, lightly. I depend on words, perhaps more than most. I hope there are many that define me, not just one or two.

Dark parts. Les, Jon, T and T2, I do not believe you will be entirely surprised by this next part, but I suspect others may. CAUTION: Darkness ahead. I am by no means or by anyone’s words, a smart or intelligent or philosophical man. In my own, I am exactly those things. I spent all my growing up years being told I was an idiot. I am stupid. I will not amount to anything. A monkey could do any job I have ever done. My head is up my ass. These phrases were commonplace. I grew up believing them. Thus the importance of friends to me. Not a single entity, who knows me and is reading this, could deny me that. Counseling, listening, friends/family, are what have made me whole on this Earth. So, for those of you whom may be surprised by what is written next, I assure you I am not in a bad place, just a place where I am comfortable, and most are not. I know darkness within, extremely well. Enough hype. As I was riding the bike, I was thinking about …death. How easy it would be to slam my bike into the concrete divider of any exit ramp. Stay with me. I avoid all costs associated with a hospital stay, post-surgery. I ensure Jess has not forced debt. I end all chances of coming out of surgery in some sort of vegematic state. …yes…I said vegematic:

See? Real thing. There is a corresponding youtubes video if you type it in your searching engine. …It ends. Me. No fuss, no muss…okay…considerable muss, but not any that anyone would see…save state patrol and paramedics…perhaps a hazmat guy that has to spray my bodily fluids and some solids, down the drains and in to the Monongahela. Done. Over. This went through Charlie’s head all day long. The ease. The freedom. Here’s the thing…Jess would still find a way to kick my ass. My kids would not forgive me…and both have heard me say…way too many times…”The easy way is never the right way.” I can’t have my kids being correct any more than I can have my wife kick my ass, post mortem. I have days where easy seems correct, but I know it will never feel correct. So, I don’t mortem. I viva. As quickly as a dark thought comes in, so does a thought that brings me off the ledge of my emotional building. I see my kids, Renfro chitlins, Zempel chitlins, Kenz, my baby Logan. I can see ahead to see the extreme disappointment I would be causing for all the laughter they would miss…at my expense. My point? Today has been a constant back and forth. A literal struggle in my noddle (for those who think I misspelled the word noodle, think again. I are a goodly speller…yes…noddle is a real word). I am in a dark place and I am good. I am going nowhere and that is fine.

Final thought. Right? Anyone nap during this session? I wish I could have. …so…final thought. I am alive. Dum spiro spero.