Unless I hired a ghost writer, of course. Or became a Ghost-Writer (which is not as cool as being a Ghost Rider, but since I have a motorcycle I could potentially become both in the afterlife). Or unless I turned my laptop over to Dutch the Dog and instructed her to continue this blog in my honor (after teaching her the difference between “your” and “you’re” and counseling her with one last wagging finger not to use the word “literally” unless you really mean it… literally).
Oh but I digress, I’m not dead, I’m right here typing and drinking a Leffe and smoking an e-cigar while listening to a decidedly alive creature scurry around inside the walls and ceiling of my house and debating whether his shockingly presumptuous intrusion means he deserves to be terminated, but feeling like the answer is probably no, even though I’d really rather him go the way of those car-alarming mockingbirds who after a few well-aimed slingshotted palm nuts whizzing by their beaks decided to move a few blocks over into Koreatown. Good riddance to all these attention-starved nocturnal creatures, I say! The sleeping is much better without them.
Speaking of which, there’s been a lot less sleeping of late, or more accurately a lot less sleepiness– a fact which comes with a level of relief and satisfaction that I can’t even begin to express. The Velvet Fog has lifted, perhaps for good, and I am very happy to report that I am left sitting here feeling pretty much like a Normal Human Being again! I dare say I even feel like a Normal Human Being Who Hasn’t Been Through Two Brain Surgeries And A Serious Dance With A Serious Brain Chance!
But I am a human being who has been through those things, and who continues to dance with such a Chance; the point is just that I feel pretty normal again. And feeling pretty normal again feels pretty fucking amazing.
Sure I’m left with a weird scar under my swiftly regrowing hair (take that, Ben Kingsley-like maternal Grandfather!) and a terrific new capacity for anxiety that wakes me more often at night than those mockingbirds ever did, but all in all I’m doing pretty damn well. I’m alive and I’m not blind and I’m not paralyzed (and I’m not dead), and I can run 5 miles again without missing a step, and when I’m not utterly terrified or paralyzed with worry I’m pretty damn happy to be around and feeling good again. Which I can happily and honestly report is more than half the time. So that’s good. That’s great, in fact. When you add it all up, that’s not a bad deal at all.
In fact it’s a great deal! It’s a great, big deal that I’m still here, that I get to live my life again as I was before– which is to say, fully. And pardon me if it seems like I’m gloating, but I find that it’s essential and helpful to remind myself that these facts are more important (and more worthy of spending thought-time on) than the ominous and ever-present ticking Chance inside my skull. Let the Chance think about itself– I’d rather the rest of my brain concentrate on Living.
And speaking of living, and life, today mine just changed completely. And for the better, I’m happy to report. Thanks to some very wonderful people who have given me a very wonderful totally different kind of Chance, I’m writing a movie. A movie about Terry Fox. A movie about cancer. And most importantly a movie about Life. That may sound pretentious, but it doesn’t feel so pretentious when that word — Life — is pretty much all you’re thinking about 24 hours a day, 7 days a week.
Miraculously, I’ve been given the chance to turn all that thinking into something positive, and something potentially wonderful. Something that very well might wind up saving people’s lives. Something that very possibly could wind up saving my own. Literally.
For this, I go to sleep on November 9th, 2012 (Happy Birthday my beautiful sister Jen!) a happy man, happy to be alive, and running, and thinking.
I’ve got to get some rest, I’m training for a marathon.
More on this to come.