bbkaro

So, let me start by saying... emergency rooms are way more interesting on TV. And people work far more slowly in real life. Or maybe they are bustling about, it just seems pretty fucking slow when you're having trouble breathing.

Thank yous to the well-wishers. I am on the road to recovery, as they say. I even snuck out of the house today, against doctor's orders, to soak up the atmosphere. I made it back to bed without collapsing. Not once.

That weird pain in my right side? My lung. And I'm a healthy guy, really. Don't drink (much), don't smoke (anymore), and get more exercise than most would deem within the realm of human reason.

But what I don't do enough of, apparently, is sleep. And lack of sleep, combined with worst allergy season in decades, and, well running through the worst cloud of pollen and microscopic hellspawn in California equals a near-death experience.

I will nevermore take breathing for granted.

To quote Dean Moriarty... or Neal Cassady... or Jack Kerouac really... hell, fucking Abraham said it first for all I know: "Everything is fine, God exists, we know time."

I still love life. Maybe now more than ever.

One positive note as a P.S.: a recurring vision/flashback during feverish nights and days: me kissing a girl in the doorway of a gallery across from Washington Square under a chocolate sky lit up only by the yellow beams bouncing off Coit Tower. That's what made me think of Kerouac. That's what reminds me that everything's fine.

Be fine, y'all. And I'll write you each real soon. For now, more sleep...