Maybe its best to leave this kind of discussion for you and your family. We get it you have bad short term memory and its kind of funny in some ways sad in others, sad in others because you keep hurting yourself. I think we can move on. I think we're more worried about your repeated head injuries than you are. Oh well, thats life.
Oh, well now that I see how you were hoping that all would go the question makes more sense/seems more in context in hindsight, although I'm not sure why you're implying I wouldn't remember that. But, I GUESS I won't harp too much on someone with brain damage not being the most coherent.
I've been in China all week at our sister plant here. Google is blocked here of course, but incredibly, TiB is not. It's nice here - very clean in the area I'm in outside Shanghai, and these people build an incredible amount of very nice shit in a very short time. Very impressive and a little bit scary at the same time.
Just tagging you for this question, let us know when dumbass versus bees 2 happens, and be sure to grab a video of it
Eh, it's just about the lens. My wife knew going in that my brain was compromised, and that whatever quality I got out of life and she got out of me would be artificially limited and I would most likely not die of natural causes. We've already talked about the whole "find another husband after me" thing. It makes the bond that I have with my son extra special, because as far as I'm concerned, and medically-speaking, I should have died on August 9, 2007. In fact one of the power player agents for Oprah's book club, for a while was my literary agent, I had a whole manuscript and all... yeah turns out it doesn't play well to Oprah when the author turns into an atheist. I fired my agent soon as I could legally and quit writing for two years because I was too short sighted to find another agent and thought that was it. If you view it from my lens, it isn't sad, it's glorious. Every day I wake up, is a day I should not have. August 9 this year is going to be 10 years. 10 whole fucking years. 10 whole fucking years I've been alive since when a priest read me my last rites. In that time I've helped thousands of underprivileged families afford child care, through money out of my own pocket, who otherwise would not have been able to pay for it. I've given hundreds of people their first job at a live-able wage. I'm currently working on the logistics toward founding my own charity.... that's a fucking lot in 10 years. So don't be worried. My family already went through the grieving process (I even had a grave plot... yeah, it was that bad). This is basically like extra time. I emotionally anticipate living a complete life until I'm like 90, but realistically, just knowing my odds, I try to live it as far as accomplishing things like I'm gonna die tomorrow. My clock has stopped ticking long ago. 10 years ago my pituitary glands were herniating so far they were down around my shoulders (think about that for a second, try not to throw up, splash some water in your face and get back to me). When my wife married me, it wasn't "for richer or poorer;" it was "as long as he's alive." She knew from the start she was gonna be a widow. That was the lens. So that's why I gave her two beautiful kids and fucked her so beautiful she'll never forget me.
The fact that you don't care if your kids have a dad because you beat brain cancer really freaks me out.
You're trying to simplify a dramatically complex thing. I do care. I care immensely. I've talked to my wife I don't know how many times that I want her to date and if she wants remary if something were to happen to me. However, I'm also not going to pretend like there isn't that possibility that I won't survive for them, nor will I act like "fuck it I'm basically dying tomorrow" and not have children period. I mean go figure. Talk to my neurosurgeon right now (which I did a few months ago), he said I had a statistically insignificant probability of a brain tumor reoccurring however I needed to keep an eye on the concussions because the science in that field is still developing. Man ten years ago when I had the surgery, they had to cut out a quarter of my skull with basically a rotary tool and remove the brain tumor with what amounted to fucking expensive ass tweezers. Today, if the same circumstance were to occur, they'd take a laser and shoot it through the skull and you'd be out of the hospital in a few hours after that out patient "surgery." I know how that procedure works, because one of my co-workers just came back from it. Shit should have killed me. Hell, worse case for her is she'd get a lil headache. So what happens ten years from now? Fuck if I know. But if I'm a good betting man, i'd guess it involves spreading my ass cheeks and saying "AAAAHHHH!!!!!!" But if that don't work, fuck it, at least I tried.
"I went skyyyyyyyy diving, I went Rocky Mountain climbing, I went 2.7 seconds on a bull named Fu Manchu"
You laugh, fucking oprah accepted it. It was like a 6 month process. Her producers accepted the book title "Bull Named Fu Manchu" and "There Were Angels Along The Way." And then I got some balls and realized that my morals mean more than money, re-wrote the manuscript from an a religious-turned-atheist perspective, fired my lit agent for stocking me and threatened a restraining order. By the way, I'd still totally pitch the manuscript to oprah. I just want to really, really offend her. At one point I was given a document of belief systems to adhere to which I guess I wasn't supposed to violate with the manuscript (for example, like basic stuff, like if I talked about the devil, I also had to talk about the sins that would make you go to the devil).
Being risk-adverse in your daily actions is a good way to prevent the concussions. You dont seem to do that.
Just called my neurosurgeon to setup an MRI and a consultation. I've had far too many concussions lately, wanna make sure I'm not hydro-cephalic or the tumor came back or something. Facing this kinda medical thing is scary, but I'm 29, got a lot of time to heal. Thank you everyone for your concern and support. Like honestly, thanks.
Rock N Roll Hall of Fame always makes for some interesting cross-genre meetings. By-tor and the Sno D O double G.
I think that's more "retired, enjoying lots of wine, and not touring Geddy." Now, Alex on the other hand . . . he's enjoying the buffet.
My two geese are scheduled to be born this monday, which means I'll get them on wed. They eat grass. That's like 80-90% of their diet. And they're smart as shit, like, pig-smart. So if you feed them targeted weed species when they're babies, that's basically the grass they're gonna crave as adults. They're roaming weed eaters. This fucking with nature makes me nervous though. Like somehow, I feel like it could give me a concussion.