Five years ago today my blood sugar was 877 and I was +/- ten minutes from dead...

... but I'm not dead yet and, having not been killed by my cytokene-fever-dream immune system hurricane and – because I’m not dead yet – having spent the morning of this half-decade-hence anniversary of learning that I had Type One Diabetes – my own election year October surprise – assembling the disparate dots of the big thing about it, TFD (This Fucking Disease, a working title) into a 5,418-word Assembly Draft, I can report that it looks like I've figured out where to land. No small amount of joy here that, after another few (insert unknown timeframe here), I might finally get this fucking piece about This Fucking Disease out of my head and, in so doing, bring to an end this, my era of thinking about writing it and about not writing it.

There is, SW and AK, something here/there/everywhere.

Speaking of Beatles: thrilled that they chose the take with George's best LET IT BE guitar solo for the 2021 remix; can’t wait for GET BACK to arrive on the Baby Yoda channel.

The furnace is on for the first time this year and I'm pleased as the proverbial sugar-free punch to report that it has been one of those good writing days. The day awaits.