Pancakes For Breakfast

Hello everyone,

"Everyone" sounds hopeful. I know I'm writing to myself, but that's okay. Here's the update. Ninety days sober as of yesterday and I'm falling apart. I'm doing everything I can to be happy and healthy and I'm either losing my mind or dying of cancer.

Last night I'm watching TV and suddenly I see a luna moth flying around the room. I'm in NYC so it's a bit odd. Finally, it lands. It's not a luna moth. It's the biggest friggin' flying cockroach on the planet. I find a notebook, throw a punch, and it falls to the floor and scurries like a cartoon character under the radiator. And I'm all alone. With that thing. Can't God come up with some other kind of torture?

All right, that's a heavy load. But I didn't create cockroaches. And since when do they grow to the size of sea turtles and fly?

Now to the cancer thing. I'm in pain. Like, really in pain. In my mouth from a failed root canal and other historical surgeries. And I feel terrible. My ears hurt, I staggered when I tried to walk an hour ago, I lost my balance. This is brutal. Depression does hurt, if that's  what it is. And today is a day off. What do I do tomorrow when I try and work?

Here's a poem for today:

He sat across from his daughter at the diner
In a booth, he filled the seat easily, she was
like a prettily dressed mosquito and made as much noise.
The waitress asked what they'd like, she used a little pad
to write down their words.
"Eggs over easy and pancakes for her - do you want bacon or sausage?"
"Both."
"You can't eat both. Okay, bacon and sausage."
Her fine blonde hair had been arranged by her mother, two pigtails and plastic clips.
How do I know?
The way he kept his eyes on her.
No divorce here.
The plates came, he cut her pancakes while she colored.
He took a bite.
"How are the pancakes?"
She made a face at him and stuck a forkful in her mouth.
He took another bite and kept his eyes on her.
She sang a little, then looked around suddenly.
"Is this place for real?"
"Have a bite of your bacon."
She considered, then jabbed a piece with her fork.
"You eat it."
So he did.
"How's the sausage?" he asked.
"I hate sausage."
She arranged and then rearranged little pieces of pancake
then smushed the whole business to heck.
He ate another bite and kept his eyes on her.
Outside the traffic roared down Route 22 East
one of those divided highways that once you get on
you can't really get off.
They were going somewhere after breakfast
perhaps daycare, perhaps to Grandma's.
Perhaps his wife had a dentist appointment
perhaps it was an emergency.
He was unused to breakfast in the diner with his daughter
on his own, by himself, he wasn't sure of the rules
he wasn't sure what to do if she didn't eat her pancakes
and he wasn't going to take any chances
so he never took his eyes off her.