I Chose Life

So, Oliver killed Komar and I lost my career and almost everything else. Sharon turned to me as we hugged under the covers, reporters gathered under our windows keeping me locked in my home, “…, you aren’t going to hurt yourself, are you?” No one else cared enough to ask.

Many probably wanted me to. People even wanted to kill me. Now, I don’t have anything I can do about not dying, except to live to experience it. But, I still choose life and will as long as Sharon keeps loving me.

Poor Spade and Bourdain. How lost and alone, even though they seemed to have anything they could have wanted – fame, fortune, funds. Goblins got them. No one wanted to be with them where they were, depressed and despondent. Their families and friends deserve comfort, for sure, but where were they? Had their own lives to worry about, I guess.

Looking Good In Decline

Got a haircut and beard trim. Better to look good than to feel good at this point, while I still do and can. Barber said he was tired of working, considering retirement as he approached 70.

“I’m 71,” I replied.

“You don’t look 71,” he responded, shocked, taking a second look at the mirror to make sure his guess was based on actual appearance and not just a good natured compliment.

“What does 71 look like?”

 

OK, But Not That Good

I can still look into the mirror at myself. I often wonder if any of you, not the few who stood up for justice, can do the same. You all, especially my brother’s family, scum, left me to die. I did suffer a mortal wound, but have not expired, yet. Closer to dying, than living. Cancer will kill me, before the Per Curium.