Seventy three weeks out from surgery, and here are the numbers I care about:
- Weight: 234
- Blood Sugar: 101
Down a pound. This is an objectively shitty week. It’s the fourth anniversary of my little brother’s suicide, a good friend is dying of Covid or Covid-related causes, and there’s nothing anyone can do about it, including go and visit.
Three things I’m grateful for:
- “Fuck balls”
- “Shit balls”
- “Rumble dumps”
If those don’t make any sense, then you’ve never met my friend and learned what a genuinely funny / weird / glorious person she is.
Fuck this week.
Here, have a graphic:
