Penthouse at the Asylum

My Crazy Little World

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It's my birthday. I've entered my third decade of life. I kept saying, I'm not turning 30, I'm turning 20-10. Something about saying "30" bothered me. I've been dreading my 30th birthday for months, years even. But, today? Today I feel great. The boy even commented that I was in an unusually good mood today. I think I'm ok with this. I've been wanting to make some changes, and I think this is the year. My surgery is set for June 16th, no smoking after midnight the night before and I will more than likely be in the hospital for four days. My feeling is that after four days of being in a hospital, not smoking, what's the point of coming home and lighting up? My parents said they'd air out the house, clean the carpet, the furniture and detail the car to get rid of the smoke smell. I can do this. I also have been wanting to workout more, but with these cysts, I can't. The slightest activity makes them flare up and the pain is unbearable. Even a half a day spent cleaning house is enough to hurt. Hell, a 10 minute walk kills me. But they will be removed and I can start again. Plus, I'm pretty sure I'm going to be getting a dog for Chicken and I soon, and feel like it will need to be walked everyday.

I can do this. I can change things and feel better about myself.

Maybe 30 isn't so bad. Maybe 30 actually fucking rocks!


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