No game on tonight,
so I’m knee-deep in Vietnam footage—
Netflix, couch,
working legs,
heart in triage.
The lifestyle of the average and anxious:
home,
awake,
not sure why.
Over and over,
I’ve had to convince the cosmos
that I belong here.
Or at least,
pretend I believe it myself.
Some nights,
nothing matters.
Others,
everything does—
and both feel too big to hold.
I’m turning 43.
There won’t be a parade.
There will be dishes.
I blink slowly through it all.
Once had bartender swagger.
Now I chase
“cool dad” vibes.
I embrace my rebel era,
especially when I've already fought death
and won.
So yeah—
I’ll treat each Tuesday
like it’s the Friday of a long weekend.
Because it is.
Because I said so.
Because I’m still here.