I've been remiss in telling what happened. The last week or so has been tougher than I expected. I'm still working on getting back into a daily writing routine.

I keep thinking that I'll get an epiphany -- that with my near-death hoopla, I'll have some new joie-de-vivre. It's just not there. I'm not necessarily complacent or waiting death or whatever either. I'm finding I have less patience with my own paranoia and melodrama. Whatever happens I'll figure it out. However I feel it will change. However near to death, I will die when the universe calls me and there will be nothing I can do about it.

So I'll do all of my preventative stuff. I'll exercise and heel pump and eat right and practice deep breathing and keep an eye on my piss and shit and take my medicines and make sure I'm not bleeding internally and all of that stupid stuff. Because it's only stupid when I'm tired, and even then it's not stupid at all. It keeps me alive and as healthy as possible and I need all the health I can muster if I'm going to make something of this life I've still got.

That's the epiphany, I guess. I want to make something of this life I've still got. I want desperately to deserve being saved. I'm simply not yet sure I do.