Due to a lapse and following lag in health insurance coverage, I have taken a forced "month off" of dealing with this tumor bullshit that keeps fucking up my life, a la Jets To Brazil. However, the insurance package has arrived, and I have an appointment with the endocrinologist on Tuesday morning at 10:30. While its been nice to check out of worrying about all this bullshit, its always been on the back of my mind, and now here it is, right back in my face.
So what does Tuesday mean? It means that "brain surgery" goes from being a funny joke at the bar to being very, very fucking real. The shit is looming for real, and knowing me, will probably land right around my birthday. What a way to ring in 31...by pulling a piece of flesh out of my nose and hopefully getting my body to behave like its supposed to. As I sit around here thinking about it, I don't even really remember what its like to feel healthy. To feel like how I used to feel. For example, after yesterday's 16 hour sleepapolooza, I woke up at 5am, did some chores, walked to get some breakfast, bought groceries, put them away, and feel totally wiped out. I am currently waiting for Sunshine to wake up to see if I can borrow her ride to get to my grandparents house and get my mail so I can pick up my insurance info because there is no way in hell I can make it there on a bike. Over the last few days, two flights, a tattoo, some shows, an interview, and a lot of writing wore me the fuck out. I can't remember the days where riding my bike all over town was no big deal, or playing a show with a band seemed feasible, and didn't lay me up for days afterwards.
So my vacation is over. Here's to the end. I'm glad its the end, but its still scaring the shit out of me.
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