So, what the fuck?

Just trying to get your attention.

Here's the deal: why am I not scared?  Why do I feel lucky?  Why do I feel that I have had a graced life when two months ago a neurosurgeon told Erin I had 18 months to live?

Weird, people.  Freaking weird.

Talked to several psych types about it, and they're pretty much as confused as I.  One says, "Well, it'll hit you later," one says "well, a lot people feel that way at the end," but hey: I've a long damed way to go before the end, and I intend to raise some hell and play some tunes and drink far more good beverages than is advised.

Why would a 57-year-old-man with a wife and a fun life feel lucky?
 on finding out that he has a stage 4 glioma that will surely kill him (barring a bus or bad bike crash)?

It's so weird to me.  I know I've talked about this before, but I still can't get over it.  I get sad from time to time, but in the main, I feel happy.  "Euphoric" was a word I used the other day.

Liberated.  I can write.  I can muse.  I can be whatever I want, now.  I'm not tied to a job.

But wow.  My time is short.  I figure good odds on 3 years.; slightly worse but still decent on 5.  Beyond that?  Who knows...

But man.  I have met so many good and wonderful people who have made my little journey so fun and interesting and unexpected.

Unexpected.

That's been my life.  Completely unexpected.

So, to all of you who have touched this strange little life, I thank you.  Sincerely.

I'ts been one wild ride.  But wow.