No More Apologies From Me: Good Times, Bad Times

   This will be a bit of distraction before I get to the meat of todays blog.

         Liz is going to go to DFW to cheer on one of her friends running in an all woman "mudder" called "Pretty Mudder". Obstacles, long distance, although I'm not sure how many miles it is through this one, and I know they vary in length and the number of challenges. Walls, deep mud pits, water hazards, the are pretty cool events. Sarah ran in one last year. 15 miles 25 or 28 challenges. She did them all but one. Bruised her knee pretty badly, and unlike her dad, she knew enough to take it easy on it. I would've run it as hard as I could, and done enough damage to it, I'd have a "hitch in my get along" for being so foolish I didn't rest the knee. All that having been said and done, it's time to move on a bit.

 Okay, he's the deal. My little brother and I had a blow out yesterday, as I wrote on the FaceBook yesterday. I won't be saying I'm sorry with behavior or the forgiveness I should, since several times in the past I've been told "I really respect you Rock, I'll do it". I'd be pleased and it's almost as if I can hear the chuckling and "fuck him" while I'm shutting off the computer. People have excused the behavior for so long and enabled the same behavior to continue. At times telling me that I should apologize because he's messed up. I did, and it didn't change a thing. So, I'm done being the "sorriest man  in the family" (I'm sorry I was honest: I'm sorry I yelled, I'm sorry I'm breathing) and it stopped last night. I will no longer sit and watch the rudeness to people that do follow his mantra, the condescending tone when talking to me, and in general the two faced BS that gets doled out. So, if this is going to keep me out of and better place when I die, I'll live with it now. I will no longer enable, nor be a traveling excuse maker for anyone but myself.
  Having been told that I was doomed more than once to a bad spot in the afterlife, I will save some seats up front next to my own, I believe there will be some really cool folks I know right there with me.
One of the arguments given me was "If thine eye offends thee, pluck it out" with regards to myself last night. I went ahead and did that, figuratively, any way.
  I've seen behavior such as, throwing a fit and having his car ruined when it rained red dust on, "It's ruined, I don't want it anymore!!" Dad let him keep it. I'd have sold the damn thing. Or, when he got in trouble or scratched up a little I heard "Why weren't you watching for him!? You're supposed to take care of him he's your little brother!" Didn't make a difference that I was working either with dad, or at work at OTASCO during the school year. It fell down on me to take care of him, even if I wasn't around.  Thankfully that ended around 1985 when I got married. Apparently no one needed a scapegoat to bounce the trouble off on to. In 89 when I got divorced, my old car blew it's engine. Dad told me to come get Clays Dodge 4X4 to drive until I could get a vehicle of my own. I was very thankful and told him so. What I got back was "You better not fuck it up". Yeah, gee thanks. I was told that all Clay did was bitch about having to loan me the truck. Since that time, I've not asked him for anything. No use throwing gas on that fire ever again.
   I'd make a trip to McPherson Kansas and stayed twice at Clays house. Even when Dad was alive he was usually out driving the truck. Twice was enough to stay. We'd be visiting along, the next thing I know I'm being laughed at and talked to like a child over politics pretty well wore me out. Later in the week I'd get a call and be asked to make an apology. Well, okay. So I'd do that so there'd be some peace  with Dad and Clay,( instead of constantly nagging at me about how I should apologize).  So anyway, that's how things stood up until a couple of years ago. I stopped and we were talking, he got wound up on something that my place of work was doing, and not having all the info told me twice that was "fucked up, and would never work". That's the last time I stayed with him. Makes no difference to me what time I rode through Liberal, I kept going.
  There, that's the last I'll mention about this topic, ever.


     Today has had a lot more of the Good Times than I've had most of the three weeks leading up to today. I've not felt burnt clear out. I've had a couple of naps, but were short ones and I fiddled around in-between them. It got hot though, damn. That wears me out before I can get good and started. Although, I used to really like the heat. I can't seem to stay hydrated like I used to be able to so. It just beats me down. Liz is going to throw next weekend in her first games ever!! I will go as well. I'm going to be there regardless of the heat. I will be there, hide, hair, and all. I'll find a way to stay hydrated. I'm so fired up to see her throw I'm almost beside myself. Outwardly I don't want to show her that I'm overly excited. Or that I'm in pain, or tired. If she sees that I even act tired or hurting, she'll call it off and got won't try again. That's my fear, that she won't keep at if she leaves to take care of me. If that happens it will become on of the few true times I would regret. l don't like regrets. They sap part of you each and every time they are brought up. And it seems that a person brings them up more often than the  average friend will. If they are bringing them up, they may now more often, if they see that as a weakness in your psyche, they'll use that as a hammer.
  So, this is a good day, in that I feel like getting around. My blood ox is up and I didn't have to hook up any O2 to get it there, that's damn good. My joints don't ache like rusty pliers. My right leg still gets hinky  if I'm on my feet too long. Apparently it really does want some support around the missing muscle. I can give it some of that. Today is an oddity for that and for the fact when I took the naps, I didn't feel like should just crawl into bed and sleep the rest of the day away. That's a plus I believe.  I've taken pretty fair advantage of today, and am in a position to hope it stays. The bad days aren't depression bad days. They pain meds honestly don't work for shit, it makes me tired, and I don't feel like doing jack shit. Monday was bad, Tuesday was REALLY bad, Wednesday was getting a little better and I had 6 hrs of "Good Times". I take those as well. Tomorrow will be a good day. I'm setting Liz up with a couple of practice days. Which means Sunday, I've got to cut down one of my old, dried out cabers, and I've got a 28" weight. I can show her a couple of things, but I can't do it hands on like I have with a couple of guys I know. (I thought I had a couple of new throwers, until they saw you had to wear a kilt. I even tried the old easy access. The Regimental Wearer is a simple "Lift and Fire")
 

   Alright, time to get up and do something.

Go fast and never stop
Unless you fill up on the Horizontal Bop                                                                                                                                                                                                                      
     

     

I Had An Argument With The Little Brother

   I did have an argument with the little brother. About how he treats people that disagree with him. How nothing my parents gave him advise on, nor my sister or myself for that matter was ever taken seriously. I'm completely worn out with it. And for now, I'm done with him. The meanest thing I've probably ever done in my life. But, my life isn't going to be 70 years, it's going to be, at best, close to 54 years. I don't have the time, nor the patience, or the energy to deal with the petty stuff any longer. Especially with I get the "oh, I forget, you're perfect" crap. Nope. Won't and can't do it any longer. I wish my Sister the best of luck, she's going to catch a load of grief from this, I'm sure. I apologize  ahead of time to her and to you all. This is something that's been brewing up for quite sometime. I hope that there is real change in his life and that he can find some peace. If it's an honest change, I'll be more than happy to return to speaking with him. But for now, I can't. It's just one thing that's too difficult for me to put up with at this point in my life.

  You may ask why I'm washing some dirty laundry in public. I simply don't want people to think that I haven't screwed the pooch in the past, present or future. However long the future is going to be for me. Probably not the best place to say anything, but this is part of my Terminal Velocity, and the mistakes that I can make while running it.

 So, once again, my apologies to everyone. That's something else I've got to work on, my temper and it's consequences.

If I'm Dying, Why Won't It Just Get The Hell On With It?

  After almost nine months have passed since every  doc I talked to said, "A year, probably less" with or without Chemo. So, I'm damn near to a year, I am going down hill a little faster than even a month or two ago. I can clock that by how often I feel like I the need to avenge the the pain where I don't have teeth, or my missing Jaw, or missing my voice. I can avenge the pain, that rat bastard Baxter, he's no match for modern drugs and mind over matter. The Voice is tougher, the only way I can avenger that is by becoming a better writer, as well as narrator since this is my very own blog. Today, I have such heavy bone pain, it's unreal. Almost like a broken tooth, but deeper. Like I'm trying to grow a couple of new teeth from right out of the floor threw my chin (right side only) and all the way back to molar. Yeah, it makes my eyes water. Not crying tears, watering from a major OW!!!!!!!

  The pain shit can also make me, how should I put this? The pain makes me, fucking grouchy, short tempered and to keep from hurting (mental and feelings) my family I just take the regular "Push Through" pain medicine of morphine. The food of the gods. Which is why I take it as directed, and exactly on the time span it says. Which one week had me using about 4 times what I had the past two or three months in a row. This was the beginning of March, and didn't go  over well with me or Hospice. They thought maybe I was over doing it. I told them probably so, but my pain was real, and I used as you told me to use it. I did leave out the part where I was burning down the Lortab right along with my morphine. THAT certainly made ole Rocosis a happy Terminal Velocity participant. So, I worked on getting my shit together, because I don't like to take that many drugs. It took a week or so of  self hypnosis to get past that. But it worked and I'm not taking all the drugs I was. Certainly helps with my concentration and mobility. The funny thing is, yes, it helps with my concentration, but it hasn't changed my getting sleepy while I type up the blog. Strangely enough, I've fallen asleep, gone back to work on it when I've woken from a lovely nap of 2 hours and discovered I'd written a couple of lines of  Dumas like intrigue. No, that's a lie. It was more like trying to track the number of places a molecule went during the Big Bang. It spiraled and went no place fast. Funny, but a big bitch when you're trying to hold a thought.


    Okay, back on with the "what the fuck is keeping me alive?" topic. Damned if I know why I'm still alive. Is there something in the grander scheme of things I'm missing? Liz has shown an interest in throwing Highland Games in my name. Is this something in the big scheme? I would hope. It's a good sport, she can do well in it, and she's will see why I enjoyed them so much. I was, on a really fucking excellent day, a middle of the road, athlete and competitor.  What I found though, were several hundred people I might only see once or twice a year, still remember my name, and start a conversation right where we left it the last time. That's fun. There's great support from every athlete while you're learning the game. It's a wonderful way for her, at least I believe this, to connect one more time with me on that eternal level. Will it give her the peace she needs and I hope she gets? I hope so, I never could stand for her to cry, or be hurt, or anything that keeps her from smiling. When I close my eyes, that's what I see. Her face, smiling, laughing and giving me forty kinds of bullshit. She truly is the "Light that shines, and shows me the way."  If that's why, it's not so bad at all. I guess I should ask the head honcho if that's it.
Although every time I've asked before,  all I got was a monkey hand print. Hmmmmmm.


  It's certainly not to determine what we should have for supper, because I'm a damn blank for everyone but myself. My meals come in  a can and kind of smell like Gerber Liquid formula gone bad. If the reason I'm still up is to fulfill some wild prophesy, I'd like to know what that is, please? It's bad enough I have trouble writing the blog, let alone helping fix something that me or show them some new direction or strength.  I've not had any epiphany about what's to come, or who or what I shout do while I am waiting for Death, that old deceiver, to come knocking at the door. Some day, it's gonna happen. I'm somewhat torn as well. I don't really want to die, but my life is something that's about 2 steps above,  just fucking miserable. I say that, only because I get to go on achy, or in pain, or just having this shit pile up and giving me a huge forget about me, go have fun, attitude. (That's also known as the Guilt Them A Little, Daily. As well as 'I'm Whiny, Get Over Me' )

 So, here's where I end this dog. I have no clue why I'm still chugging along. Time will tell

 Love y'all to pieces

Road Trip!!! Oh God

   ROAD TRIP!!!!!!!   Yep, it was a Road Trip. The family and I went to Waxahachie to one of my favorite Highland Games, even though I can't throw, it's one of my favorite events. In the past it's been my first throw of the year. Last year, had I not gotten a return of the cancer and carved up like a cheap piece of beef, it would have been somewhere around my third of fourth game of the year. That's how badly I wanted to continues to throw, and improve myself, without loving my love of the game. Early on, I discovered that, "Yes! I can practice a lot and get WAY better!". It was true, I did start improving a lot, but the off side of that was what I suspected might happen. I got so mad at myself for not performing up to my own expectations that it started to not be fun to compete. I'd get up, head out for a game, and by the end of the day I hated the entire thing. Myself, the game, the AD, the equipment, the heat, the cold, what ever there was to hate, I was there. Then came an epiphany one night while I was talking to my Uncle Jack Daniel's, and it was a long talk, believe me, and thought, "Dammit, I was having so much fun, what was I doing different?"… "I was just throwing, that's what. And I was getting better without all the practice and self hate. I was enjoying the company of the folks I was competing with, that's what's different". I gave away nearly all my practice equipment, went to a couple of games, and a couple of PR in spite of not training. The most important thing? I got my love of the games and of the people who are all parts of the games. People I respect (in no order, so don't get all competitive here, he says with a chuckle and smile). Like Brittney Boswell, Terri Ventress, Mike Baab, Ed Cosner, Mark Cooper, Aaron Woods, Kim Dot… God, more names and people than I can list fairly. Mike Baab inspired me to stay in after cancer. He text me right after my first round in 2008, and basically said, "Stay with the games, it's good for you". Yeah yeah I thought, not right now they aren't. In 2009, 6 weeks out of my last radiation therapy, I went to the Games Mark Cooper put on at the Scarborough Renaissance Festival in Waxahachie Tx. I threw, no one expected me to throw, only that I'd show up. Mr. Cooper and his lovely wife Tamra had the entire group they are in at the Faire come over as my cheering section, named me Athlete of the Day, with Mike Baab giving me the medal, and had me fire off the cannon to close the day. They made my eyes leak.
 If was there, at that moment, I decided that I had my old records, and everything would be a PRAC Personal Record After Cancer. I've had more fun than a man should be allowed. It was truly what I thought in the first place, "NEVER FUCKING QUIT" which was my mantra to begin with. The time between April 2009 November 7th, 2012 were some of the best times in my life. I'd always had more fun that almost anyone I know, but these were special days. I kicked cancer's ass. Alas it came back, and for now I'm holding it at bay, but it's killing me, fucking slowly it's killing my body, not what's me. Not my heart, spirit, or Amour De La Vie. Those things are mine, always have been, it can't take them from me.

  Okay, that's the "Prequel" for this blog. Scarby is one of my Favorite games, so is the Texas Scottish Festival games put on by Aaron Woods and his lovely wife Tamyna. And add to those the McPherson Celtic Festival in McPherson KS, run by Dave Glasgow and his wife Gunner, and Larry and Terri Ventress, (Terri owns the world records in her age group in all the events she can in Heavy Athletics). I was only able to attend one of Mike Baabs games, but I had a blast there. His was going to be on my agenda in 2013. So was the Iron Thistle. Several games that I'd always wanted to throw in, but just couldn't get away to save my life.  You all need to believe me when I say, it's not just the AD's, location, rain, shine, cold or burning up hot that makes these games great for me, it's the people I've met. I have friends that I'd never have met if it hadn't been for the Highland Games. Everyone of them are great people, wonderfully competitive, but never so much that they can't lend some really good advice. From Mike Baab telling me in Arlington "You want to throw farther?" Well, Mike, fuck yeah, I'd like to learn how. Straight faced and calm as a preacher he tells me, "It's simple, Suck Less". I cracked up. But he and many others have given me advise on the throwing and technique that all work. I like that. That's the reason I keep coming back. Baxter is killing me. He makes me pay a high price for taking these Road Trips, and going to the Games. He's a sneaky, rat cock sucker, that thinks he's winning. I've got news for you, Baxter, you rat mother fucker, you ain't winning. I am. The body? Yeah, take all that you want, I have friends that I need to tell how much I care for them, I still have ME. My thoughts, feelings, and my desire to see so many, you can't have, bitch.
  So Liz and my kids that are still home, and I went to Scarby. Oh my God, so many people wishing me well. Actually and sincerely telling me how glad they were to see me. I was overwhelmed, and so full of amazement, and being humbled by the show of support for me and my family. The games were running long (not unusual, it's the nature of the athletic beast), I was sunburnt and work completely out. We packed up to leave. Mark Cooper had all the athletes gather around, his lovely wife Tamra cam over dressed in her full Ren. clothing, and several other folks from that group showed up. I was once again stunned and humbled. They gave a speech praising me, and telling me it was a blessing to know me. My eyes were about to leak. They gave me a game shirt, and a beautiful HUGE special edition Faire beer mug. I look around, about half embarrassed since in my mind, I wasn't anywhere near that special. I look around some more and see athletes with the sniffles and some leaky eyes as well. Shoot, my wife's eyes are leaking. Turn about, so they say is fair play. I had Tamra read a little something from me for everyone there…"Cancer has my voice, and for a lot of people, that's a blessing," (laughs from around the crowd. Apparently they all knew me), I had Tamra reading, "But the real blessing is mine, for being allowed to join  this family. Each and everyone of you are special to me, in a lot of different ways.". That's where I left it. About 15 or 20 folks came by, as I was trying to escape, to wish me well, and that they were so glad to see me one more time. And more than a few to say they wished they'd met me years sooner. That slice of bread is buttered on both sides. I'd like to have known a lot more of the folks sooner myself. Like I say, it's not just the games, it's the people that compete at the games that made it special for me.

  I look around, to this day, when people are telling me they are inspired by me, or enjoy my company, whether or not I can speak. So many folks just like sitting with me, and we don't have to talk or write. That's damn humbling, believe me.

 So, that was my Road Trip. I'd like to make so many more, I don't know if I can, time will be the judge of that. My body is getting worse. I used 175 mg/hr on Fentanyl patches, just to get through my day, with the occasional morphine boost. Or if the sudden jump in pain isn't that rough, a touch of Lortab. I've got so many friends now, from HS buddies and really good friends for nearly 40 years, all the way up to people who've gone out of their way to meet me and call me friend, most of those with in the last 10 years, a pile more within the last 6 months to a year. It's astounding to me, and humbling, and so honored to be given that gift. Friendship is hard to make with me, and that so many had shows me I don't know shit about myself, yet. There's something there I don't see, that all these folks do see. Good Lord, what a blessing you all are to me and mine. Thank you all so much.

  One of my more recent buds had the heavy weight for distance throw his ass down. He was kind of down about that. Myself and one other person were telling him not to sweat it, it happens to nearly everyone at some time in their throwing career.
  The other person had to leave. So I said (well, wrote down for him anyway), "I was throwing at the second or third games in Odessa TX. I was a C then, so the weight was  56#,  I was forcing the throw. In one turn I'd let the weight get away from me. When I lost it, the 56# dragged all 225# of me clear out of the box, and deposited me on the field about 4 feet from the edge of the box. It had to get me at least that. After the shock, I was laughing my ass off. So did everyone else once they found out I was okay.
Don't let that get you down, we've all spent time in grass throwing the HWD." He's a good guy, I hope he stays with it. Mark Cooper and I decided he gets my old fork. I hope it works for him as well as it did for me.

 Okay, time to finish.

Amour De La Vie!!! Love Life half as much as I do and have in the past, you're gonna have a great life. Stick with it. Look at the sunrise, it's plain beautiful, same with sunset. There's always more good things going on than bad, even in your life. Even in mine, right now, there's far more to live for and enjoy even as it's slipping away from me. Be a better person, that was all I ever wanted, and in most cases I've made that, just having the affliction called "Amour De la Vie". Try it, it's a gas

I Did One, So This Should Be Easy Enough

  Or not. Some times it's easier to think it's easy, just so you can give yourself a way out. You know, the old "I started and found out it was much harder to do than I originally thought, but I got it on time, anyway." What? No one has done that if you've had a boss that's hard to work with, the guy you couldn't do anything right, even if you were just doing what he said while he was watching. Sometimes that works, other times you'd be better off if nothing was said. I kind of felt like that the last two or three weeks. I could think of nothing new. Not symptoms, not emotionally, not jack shit. I knew there had to be something, but I couldn't square that away. I'd already gone over I was taking for that, and anxiety, and fifty other other meds that I get now. Okay, not fifty, in fact I'm down to like 6 or 8 on a regular basis. So really, nothing new, right? Or not.

    I've not had a day where everything I've cleared out of my of my tracy (which means it's coming out of my trachea or a bit higher than that, closer to my larynx. I know I can't speak but a dozen words or fewer than I can  stand a child in pain. It really bleeds, and the pain it takes to clean that up it's just not worth the effort to talk about. In retrospect, yes it is, the bleeding and all is important to talk about. There's something intrinsically wrong with blowing that off. It can be a scary thing to have happen, worse if you're not used to seeing a lot of your own blood, not so scary if you've been prepared to see that kind of thing. My Dr.'s at MD Anderson explained there would be bleeding as this with along. They did say copious amounts, of which I've only had one or two episodes like that. This bleeding is a medium kind of bleed, but it's also all day, every day. Which I'm saying is something that definitely needed talk about. I know I've mentioned it getting more and more heavy out of and into my mouth. That's kind of changed, I get little to no blood in my mouth anymore. I guess that one hard cough blew up whatever was bleeding so much into my mouth, but it's gone. For all practical purposes it has anyway.

  So, why do I say this bleeding, out of my trach (I am 100%  percent that's where the bleed is now). It's because I am not seeing it anywhere else. Not in my throat or esophagus, just in my trach. It's scary because that is where you're breathing comes through to your lungs. That's damn spooky. If  The Damn  Cancer cuts off your airway, you die! If it does it slowly (like it is on me) you get used to the short wind, panting like a dog, or weak as a new born kitten. It could also go a long way to helping with anxiety.  Mine was brought on by other means. I got excited (no, fools, not "That" way) and felt my neck tighten up. Then  my legs got 50 shades of shaky. And finally, like no matter what I did I wasn't getting enough air. It turns out that's not uncommon among people with mouth and/or throat cancer. Normally, that wouldn't have been so bad that I couldn't get over it, but no way. I couldn't shake that irrational fear of drowning. The thing that made it irrational, was my location. There's not a decent river, or stock pond in a couple hundred miles at least. Oh now I have to call Bullshit upon myself. There are a couple of lakes less than 200 miles away. But they might as well have been that far away, no more time than I got to take off.  So, to conclude this paragraph, if you read this and it seemed important, go get it done before you turn 40, anyway. Catch it early, do what the Dr's say (if you think you can. then try and do it anyway), it's the easiest way to survive. I say that, and with all honesty, I didn't get a PSA until I was 47 years old. Foolish of me, I know. Get that done BEFORE you turn 40, that test done at 37 or 38 is far more important than you think. Early enough and fast enough, they won't have to cut on you, your secret is early detection. Chen what you think of as needing asked of the pumpers and the forum. If it can wait, I'll close the window of opportunity on the bastard, get all to add on mingus, it's not hard against Mink. LOL

 Okey Dokey, let's wrap this up.Today's Blog has been brought to you by Jim Henson's muppets Animal, the letter 200000, and the number Fucktard

4

 
     Man oh man, I've really let this slide. I apologize, first to me, for ignoring something I really enjoy doing, and then to all of you who follow the blog. I've had better months. I seem to have found out how to wear myself out so efficiently it doesn't take much to out me out. I don't know if that's from cancer, or from depression. I think Cancer, although it could be that the anti-depressant isn't strong enough or the correct type. It's not the same kind of tired I felt when I thought I was depressed (which I was), it is something more along the lines of when I worked way hard and got really tired. I'd just forgotten how that felt, since I've not worked for a looooong fucking time. As Bilbo once said "I feel like a pat of butter that's been spread too thin". (thank you Mr Tolkien, that was a perfect way to say that).  So, as I set here going over why I might be tired, it turns out it feels more physical than mental. I still want to go out, and if Liz said "wanna go to get a bite, and have a drink?"  I'd gather my poop to do that. Yep, it's physical.

  I noticed that some time back, even before I figured out I was depressed, that I was getting really tired, even after minimal exercise, and was running out of gas way fast! Well, it's like that now, by a factor of 5. But, even tired, I would like to be out doing something. It embarrasses me when I just drop off. Part of the reason I still say this is physical, not mental, is that I have that desire to not be so tired, and how to workaround that. Depression, there was no way to work around any of it. With the depression I didn't feel tired, but I did want to sleep all the time, and you couldn't have pried me out of bed with a twenty foot long steel bar, and primer cord. This time, if I get a nap (albeit some of those are way long),  by the end of the day, I'm tired, just not unusually so. I can, if someone asks if I want to go do something the answer is most likely "Why hell yes". When I was depressed it was "NO, Im so tired, Im about to fall asleep anyway". What does this tell me?  It expected me to be at it's every whim. Something I never wanted my cancer or it's side effects to get that kind of grip upon me. A prime example I'm setting for folks that want to know what's going on? Time to get to the meat a  taters of this post.


   Mostly because it's getting hard to keep my eyes open right now. The drugs and being up (yes, I took a long nap) since 0220 is taking control of my body. Once in a while it may know more about what I need than I do myself. I fell asleep typing, so  my body does not get over ruled, as I used to think it needed. I can't overrule the body, it's smarter than I am. That's not much of a stretch either.

  The truth is, my days are more difficult all the time. It's more difficult to get ready to go anywhere, do anything, or stay awake long enough to be useful. Yeah, it's getting tough, Baxter is taking his sweet time about wiping me out, but this incremental stuff is a buzz kill for certain. One day, I could be able to run a 440, the next day, if I can walk a block I should be thrilled. It's getting tougher to cook. One of the things I found that I can do for the family because it's not all that strenuous, and Baxter is taking the fun out of that. He's a rat fucking bastard.  I have made it almost 2.5 or 3 months longer than I would have thought. The really good thing about that is I got to see Chance and Stephanie get married. I hope they find as much happiness as Liz and I have had, excluding this last 18 months! This has been a trying time for Liz and the kids. I'm sure I couldn't have made it this far without them.

Okay, I've got things I need to do. So I'm going to cut this short, probably the shortest blog I've done. Since to me, the days are running together and to me, nothing much has changed. I'll think about it though, before I do the next one.

Love all y'all









































































''''