Meat

 ***This is Zora, about three weeks ago. Zora is my friend Josh's dog, 13 years old I believe--Zora, not Josh. One time, back in the day, Zora punched me so hard in the crotch that fire came out of my ears. That is the power of Zora.***

I thought I was dying. Yep, really. Not from getting punched by Zora years ago, but here and now--really recently, for real. Now, you don't want to hear about my medical ailments anymore than I want to hear about yours, so I won't get into details, but I will say the affliction had nothing to do with my crotch or butt. Let's just say I thought maybe lifetimes were catching up with me, though. From about May 1 till June 6, I thought I might be dying. Truly.

Any blog post where you use "crotch" twice is a quality blog post, people.

I'm not dying, at least I'm 96% certain I'm not. I went to THE doc last Monday, June 6, and he looked right at it--YOU can't see it, so don't even try it if you see me. All good, he said. Take this OTC med for a month, good to go. So it hasn't all gone away, but it seems to be better, plus I still have three weeks to go. All crises pass . . . even if you do die, I suppose.

All that sucked the life out of me at a time when I didn't need any suction. The winter months were tough, but I got through them, and when April rolled around, just for fun I decided to get into the best shape of my life, though I'm in pretty good shape all in all anyway. I did gain 6.5 percent of my body weight over winter. Since, I've lost 60 percent of that. So I started to get into super shape in April, survived a ridiculously close-to-being-serious bike-car encounter--I was the bike--and I was on my way.

Till death stared me down, yo. I lost that weight because I exercised a lot and didn't eat enough. I thought, I got through all that noise this winter, start to get on a roll, then bam! The lingering grim reaper turned me into a turd. I dealt with it as well as possible and tried to be rational about it, but I was more than stunned that the temple that is my bod had decided to suddenly and completely freak out. That didn't sit too well with me, and while this is probably my fault, it spun my brain back over to the dark side a bit, and well, I didn't feel like eating. Nor doing much else, though I did do in a semi-dysfunctional state for the majority of those six weeks. I stayed busy and played happy. 'Cause that's what we do. Even when we're falling off a cliff.

I think I pissed a couple of people off during this period 'cause I was freaked. I think they should teach forgiveness as a class, just like English or Math. Really though, I've been trying really hard to be a better listener and more empathetic, and it is working--until I thought I was dying.

Anyway, over that time I watched a lot of playoff hockey. Biked a lot. Socialized. Golfed. Worked, though my focus at times was less than stellar. Took lots of walks. Mingled.

And I decided to sell my house.