SLIPPED A BIT

The last 48 hours have been eventful as I hit the halfway mark of my chemo sessions. I thought I was starting the uphill climb of session three yesterday—only to realize I may have been a bit premature. I spent the day unable to express myself vocally, and it looks like today might be the same. I’m not sure if it’s a side effect or just a coincidence with hitting the low point of the cycle. Either way, as much as I despise the loss of taste, this ranks right up there with it.

It’s strange. I can manage the pain, lack of sleep, crazy thought patterns, and the highs and lows of motivation. But the two things that bother me most? Not being able to taste what I eat and not being able to speak. Maybe it’s because, in 60 years, I’ve experienced the former struggles before, but these two are new, and I haven’t figured out how to adjust yet.

With the cost of food these days, it’s frustrating to see what’s on my plate and think it might as well be free dirt from the backyard. And as for not being able to speak, I was floored by the number of “what’s this guy’s problem?” looks I got—like I was being rude. The sad part? Not one of them realized just how lucky they were that I couldn’t respond. I had a whole rant locked and loaded, cuss words included.

Let’s ramble through the past couple of days...

Friend vs. Acquaintance

This topic landed on the front porch a few mornings ago, and after jotting down some thoughts, it was still spinning on Thig’s wheel today. Thig gave me the “Dude, can we put this one to bed?” glance—so we did.

I’ve realized that reaching a resolution and moving forward makes sense. I wish I could do it with everything, but I’m getting closer. I’ve decided that in my world, if I know you and would take the time to acknowledge you while passing on 33 Highway, you’re a friend.

Here’s how I see it: We all live in the same high-rise building. The Penthouse Dude has the top floor, the Basement Dweller has the bottom, and the rest of us occupy the space in between. I choose my floor, just like you do. Some days, we’re next-door neighbors; other days, we’re 27 floors apart. But no matter where we are, we’re still in the same building, and with a little effort, we can meet up.

The effort required to say good morning may vary, but the opportunity is always there. So, instead of debating whether to type “friend” or “acquaintance” (and constantly misspelling it), I’ve made my choice. Friend it is.

Event #2

I gave out some advice on Sunday—just my opinion, but I meant it. Then, I immediately turned around and ignored my own damn advice.

"Find one thing that gives you the relief you need daily—and once you find it, never stop."

For me, that’s journaling. And for whatever reason, I feel like my millions of fans around the world need to see it. But in reality, it’s not for you—it’s for me.

It’s the one thing that keeps me going. Without it, I feel like I’d just say screw it, go 150 mph down 33 Highway, and crash and burn. Everyone has a choice to ride along, and I respect whatever decision you make. I know 150 mph would scare some of you.

Yesterday, I thought I was starting the uphill climb. I didn’t journal. Some might say “It was just one day, not a big deal.” Well, kiss my butt—it was a huge deal.

I woke up feeling pretty good but went downhill fast. Lost my voice. Bone pain hit. Found myself wanting to take people’s heads off—not friends, just random strangers. I got frustrated over minor things and even blamed an innocent person for someone else’s actions. I moped around, feeling sorry for myself. And as it was happening, I just chalked it up to a bad day.

This morning, Penthouse Dude reminded me: “You don’t have time for bad days.”

I questioned him, and here was the answer: Every day may not be as good as yesterday or as good as tomorrow, but every day, you have the opportunity to make it what you want.

I skipped a step yesterday that helps me avoid bad days. That was a mistake.

Yes, I’ve skipped journaling before—but only because I was working through my thoughts. Yesterday, I just blew it off.

Good or bad, for you guys? I don’t give a damn. That won’t happen again.

This is for me. It’s the one thing I can still control.

Event #3

I continue to struggle with play-calling here in the fourth quarter, trailing just a bit on the scoreboard.

I know the play I want to call, but I can’t seem to do it. The funny thing? It’s a play I’ve called my whole life. I’ve never taken the lead with it, but I’ve kept the game within reach.

They say practice makes perfect. But practice and failure? That just makes you hesitant.

I called my first timeout of the second half this morning. That leaves me with two. But in this game, timeouts last as long as I need them to.

This play involves combining things that are basically opposites, and I need to be sure they come together at the right moment. Most of the play, I can put in motion. It’s the final execution that I struggle with.

Everyone who knows what I’m cryptically referring to also knows damn well I’m going to run the play.

I just need a little more time.

I won’t swear this timeout ends today, but it feels like it will. Then again—maybe not. It’s only third down, and you know I’ll go for it on fourth.

After all, the fourth quarter just started.
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Gonna call it for now…head over to the iPad…make sure I feel good about my play…and send the team in when I am ready!

That’s it for today, friends.
A Simple Man