I have started writing every single day this week but inevitably I get distracted or too tired to finish out the day right. I start these thoughts and file them away into the until next time and sometimes next next time them until later and sometimes revisit or completely abandon them. You’d wonder how all these have starts would read, maybe when I’m dead, maybe then.

So–the diet is going. It’s going okay but I am not AS great as I would like just yet–probably because I have not forced any accountability at this point which I do have to do because I am starting to see there is a definite correlation with nutrition and health. I got my INR this week–however the night before I did eat a load of broccoli so overdid the pomegranate juice. They told me to cut it with the pomegranate juice but for me it’s something that makes to continue provided it is WITH the broccoli or spinach or kale given I believe in moderate amounts the benefits far outweigh the negatives given the issue with dying is the whole recurrence thing. I might lose my liver or some other pertinent organ but it seems like the longer road out over another clot. Food, though, food holds a lot more than they’d tell you over your general health and well-being absolutely.

I’ve gotten a little resentful of the old, the truly old, I’ve had to realize. I don’t hate them, no–I just envy the fact that most of them do look like they’ve lived pretty comfortable lives and here I’ve clearly been in a place where I just want a piece of what that would be like—I want to know what it’s like but I am also glad I get to die young enough to maybe not be truly forgotten. I don’t really mean that but it sounds better that what is eventually going to happen. 2027 sounds like a better year to die anyways, so that’s hopefully the acceptable bargain–I think years ago that was the year I had other visions for crazier things, but unless I can beat this whole shitty you have no hope encouragement I got from the hospital, well, I’m clearly as good as dead. I know I won’t be able to prove anything, really, given though there was no hope given, there was no specific end time given either. That’s a great way to have zero responsibility..

Right now I am gong through trying to right all my wrongs, I guess you could say. Some of them have involved writing gems like ‘I went to see if you were dead today,’ adventures in obituary searching’ because obviously there’s people who haven’t made it I met along the road, and who the hell knows why. I am still writing my grandmother, which I hope again inspires some joy–I never wrote to any of mine really while they were around, and the other one I couldn’t because of her connection to the maternal line and my feelings that I definitely would not be welcome. So I have the one who’s always been pretty kind to me–again, huge mistake in not getting her writing to me when I was younger and she was younger and when I could have maybe learned a few things. But right now I do it because it helps my hands and because she is in Arizona and who the hell wants to live there on purpose–and especially a couple who spent 30+ years in Southern California? I figure-maybe something fun to look forward to every week is good for her, and for me it keeps me somewhat accountable though I should probably copy them all, I just don’t. I am sure it’s going to eventually be a good study in where I went all downhill finally–I am sure the first few looked like a crazy person wrote them and now that I have done a few, I am sure I still come off as the crazy person. My writings aren’t too off from some of what I talk about here, but imagine being my grandmother and reading that? haha. No, but I am definitely sure they will be future evidence of the diminishing of any reasonable faculties I currently have.

I am half-kidding but right now I have kind of committed to a newer routine with her. If nothing else, I tried, and she’s going to outlive me anyways, so why the hell not try and bring some joy, or at least a piece of my own soap opera every week? It’s not going to hurt, and it does give me that satisfaction I do have a penpal of sorts. I don’t think life changes for her often enough to write me with any near of the same frequency, but again, having a little bit of love mailed your way is never bad. I did also try and volunteer for an elder care community to hang out with some old people or really, older people, but they didn’t ever call me–that was a few months ago though I have no references but for job jobs. I still look for work on the volunteer job board all the time, waiting for the thing that sings. I saw it once a year ago or so, but it’s that time in to the company walking away from the pension always catching me up to wait just a little bit longer.

I am starting to catch up in other ways–but it’s going to take time. The leg and foot are annoying as all hell. Right now they are even worse than they’ve been in some time, but I have no choice but to endure, given I still have it to use, so pain is perhaps better than nothing. Today I started to walk like my inseam was crooked or my hips just shifted off center a bit–It’s been 6 weeks so 6 months and 6 years is going to be hard to meet if I don’t get myself straightened out.