You don’t know paranoid, honey….

Not joking. I think I may have spiraled myself into a hypomanic episode. Okay.

So, to prevent such a decline all out of the blue and such, I keep a record of how much sleep I get. When I see my psych, I bring this list to him. As well, I keep my meds on my nightstand and take them at very specific times during the day, so that though the rest of the day may be unpredictable, I am fully medicated.

Probs being…..I’ve slept about four hours for about a week consecutively now. And now I’m trying to take naps and I even talked to my doc about upping the meds, but it’s a little insane. I mean, given circumstances at home and that my surgery’s coming up, my psych thinks I have a little leeway to get a bit emotional, but I’m still panicking about the extent, you know.

That and I’m eating less (not that that’s the most awful thing ever for me), I’m getting more fidgety, et cetera.

Kinda blows. Now I want more ice cream.


Just In Case

Just in case you were oblivious to the active lives of paraplegics……..apparently there’s a petition to make this part of the special Olympics.

If I ever lose control of my legs, this is at the top of my list.


We did this assignment is Creative Writing class yesterday where one is tasked with writing an extremely LONG sentence- not a run-on sentence, but a properly punctuated, plausible sentence. Two sentences, each a half page (my paper).

Out of context I think it makes no sense, but it passed my teacher’s standards, and he hates To Kill A Mockingbird:

“Well, to be quite frank…I can’t validate really how good a person my dad was beforehand, but given circumstances I kkind of don’t blame him for his little downward spiral- just imagine if you were gone- but at the same time, I don’t always really forgive him; he’s my dad, he’s the only parent I have left, so he should be here to take care of me…really, it’s been years, old man; grow up and deal with it; and, you know, it’s not like the two of us have terrible lives- I’m not that miserable to be around; but sometimes I can only imagine if he came back, came back like he was- well, how would you know, you didn’t know him- nevermind, I guess…….maybe I ruined him, he could be gone, you know, but I-I suppose it’s quite possible I don’t miss what I think I do, if there were anything beforehand; but I still like to count on missing out, it seems to keep things in perspective.”

“”Give everyone a little credit, yuo don’t go through things the same way everyone else does, babe- like, think about what happened with me the first time in the hospital- I know you just love to think you’re this super hardass but you’re so not, and you freak out just as much as I do, and you love me just as much as I love you, and goddamnit, stop thinking you’re so different; maybe you’re not different, maybe you’re not special, maybe neither of us and nobody in the world is, so quit it with the ‘last-hope’ bullshit and move on withuot him if you have to- see, what you don’t have is you don’t have any empathy for his side of it; you see him as antagonizing you but, Danny, his WIFE died, as in holy-fucking-matrimony-till-death-do-us-part, so don’t even tell me you wouldn’t be a wreck or even worse if I offed myself too- actually, don’t…..but you’re dad wouldn’t be here either if he didn’t still love you, but he lost your mom, too; I know you want so bad to make this about you, babe, but it’s about the both of you.”

I’m really proud to say……


My hair actually turned out like this, what I usually intend, but this above, today. It took a three-day migraine and a school delay (and Kathleen), but I am here and I feel amazing. I would take a picture but I’m in the middle of history class and I think selfies are frowned upon in core classes. I’ll ask.

I would’ve dressed like that too, but it was 19 degrees when I got to the bus stop this morning. Horrid. Wait until spring break.

I want to be her so bad. I do. I saw her walking down the street in New York one and I almost proposed (I was nine).

I was volunteering at my elem school’s nutrition night (hipster capitalism night) and this older guy was telling his granddaughter, “She looks like the girl we were listening to in the car!” And then he was singing Just Give Me A Reason with a 4-year-old and it was really funny.

My day was quite made.

Talent Show?!?!?!

So, how do we feel about talent shows? Any repressed horrors? Do you remember being humiliated onstage in front of a packed high school auditorium?

Well, don’t psych me out just yet. I am auditioning for my school’s charity talent show on Monday. I’m singing P!nk’s “So What,” as per the recent likeness.

I really only got the idea last Tuesday, but now I’ve thought about it so much that it sounds really fun. Because it always looks fun, even if you suck. And it’s for charity, so there’s 600+ people coming, and I guess why not? I guess why not before my big fucking craniotomy why not do one more stupid thing just for kicks, even if I look like an ass doing it?

Nobody told me I couldn’t.


Probably if
Decisions weren’t hard I’d
Be so dead right now
But I would die right now
For you to be something else
Something better
Something that’s good for us.

Willie Nelson

I want to write like Willie Nelson
I want it to mean something
I want everyone to sing along and think
That I write for them, too
I want to make myself proud, not anyone else
I want to grow up and get old and still be writing
And I want someone
To read it to one day


Who are you to call me sweet?
How do you know?
Do you know what sweet even tastes like?
Is it even real, given the day and age?
How do you know I haven’t soured?
Old age and disgrace and too much hate
Kept me golden now got me in stone
How do you know I’m not broken?
Like toy planes thrown off the roof at the wrong moment
Rethinking it now, right?
So maybe you should be careful
Maybe I can hurt

Always On My Mind

If you’re gonna talk
Keep moving
Don’t stop
Hold fast and go slow
Hurry up and wait, no
Feelings hot and voices so low
Keeping in check
Keeps me a wreck, you know
Don’t worry
Rest easy
You’re always on my mind

Okay, so here it goes. I officially feel like a bad person.

I got these movie tickets for my birthday, so I took Kathleen and Bubba out to a movie and dinner. Well, the movie seriously sucked, but I kinda just wanted to see it just as a LAtin student. It was that Pompeii movie. Completely historically inaccurate, BTW.

So here’s where I’m kind of a sucky person now. Bubba’s….well, I wanna say a really anxious person, and when we were at dinner of course I completely forgot about this. Completely.

Right after we ordered I got out my phone and was like, “HOLY CRAP I HAVE TO SHOW YOU MY TUMOR PICTURE!” And I broke BUbba. I have not seen a grown man be that emo so concentratedly ever in my life. Ouch. I felt really bad afterwards when KAthleen and I were driving home, and I was telling her all about it, and she kinda told me not to worry about it. He’s just worried about me

But now I just feel like an insensitive ass.

You Should Donate Your Hair

I donated my hair, too, in prep for my surgery.

Don’t just think I’m jumping to some mad conclusions.

Well, because odds are very good that at the very, very least one doc is gonna have to hack into the wild back there to get at my brain, and I figured on my way out the door that it should probably look good beforehand. Good impressions and all that.

14 inches total in back (some parts shorter with previous shavings and layers) plus 7 inches taken from front so I have a little; not totally bald. I didn’t realize my roots were this blonde.

The thing I’m really excited about is I’m friends with less of my friends from school on Facebook than the tumor people/older friends, so pretty much no one I regularly see even knows I lack hair yet. But there are pictures of me physically holding my hair.

I found out, if anyone was just inspired, that the ever-so-popular Locks-of-Love is always open, but they require a minimum 10″, whereas Pantene shampoo and some other charities accept even a lot shorter lengths. Beggars can’t be choosers, you know?

This is gonna rock.

Hey, It Was Tumor Day!


Went up to the doc’s today for the news. Actually, it turned into an enormous social hour. I’ve known almost everyone in that office for about 14 years now.

But I’m not terminal, just chronic; so old news is good news. Saw that scan above (I have better pictures, but that gets the gist better. The white circle thing in the bottom center is my tumor), and picked a tentative date. We’re trying really hard to not have any surgery until after school gets out, so if I need any recovery time I”ll have the whole summer. Plus, there’s that camp in August, which is totally modifiable if I still need ‘recovery time.’

Which, in all honesty, freaks me out just a tad, but I’m trying to be a man about it.

Telling my dad was a bit stressful, because my dad’s this really bad closet-worrier, and here I am being totally fine about it and freaking him out, and he’s losing his mind…….

A Letter Kindly

This is a letter kindly
Asking you to stop sending
Self-help books and anthologies of
Your own sad life
You just don’t know how
I became happy and you didn’t
Because your dumb drugs, men, needles,
And again those books
Didn’t do it
But who told you to try them all?