Well, my birthday was yesterday. Thirty-three years old now. But I don't feel a day over sixty. Anyone who has combed through the rest of this blog understands why I say that. For the benifit of any new readers, In 2007 I had a thoracotomy to remove scar tissue from my right lung. I crashed and spent three weeks in a coma. I had to have a surgical wound put in my back to promote good tissue growth, the cut a couple inches out of three ribs--right next to where I broke my back in '95. I also broke my neck in that accident. I have osteoperosis, severe asthma, eczema, chronic sinusitis, I've broken close to forty bones, ripped the tip off my right middle finger--in short, I'm falling apart.
But I'm a recovering alcoholic with three years, six months and nine days of sobriety. And compaired to all my ailments, that makes me a very joyful person.
That may be hard to believe, since I write horror, and suspense/thriller type stuff generally. But I'm really a nice guy, and moderately laid-back. I haven't killed anybody in over a week *wink*. Truth be told, I'm still learning to have patience. It doesn't come naturally for me, but for the most part I'm doing good. I lack patience with my son and his friends when they're being noisy and hyper, but I'm tryin, Ringo. I'm tryin real hard to be the shepherd. (Sorry, channeling Jules from Pulp Fiction there.)
Back when I was drinking I had no patience-- I was the ultimate asshole. It reminds me of a line from Robin Williams 1986 Live at the Metropolitan Opera House cassette I used to have: "I realized when I quit drinking, I'm the same asshole, I just have fewer dents in my car."
So here's to fewer dents in my car, and better relationships with my family and friends.