I’ve now gone six months without gaining any weight. Before that, I steadily gained weight for five years. It’s now time to start going in the opposite direction, and over the weekend, I actually dropped a few pounds. I’m also not retaining as much water, which is good, very good.

After my father died, and I lost my home in West Virginia, I moved to California to start over, but I guess I really didn’t have the will. I was tired, and a big part of me wanted to give up. I don’t mean to suggest that I’ve been horribly depressed every single day or that I’ve not had a happy moment. It’s not been horrible all the time, and there have been many happy moments. I guess I lost hope. I couldn’t imagine my life getting any better, and I wasn’t sure it was worth it, but lately I’ve been thinking maybe it is worth it.

We were reminded yesterday that we live in a universe that is actively trying to kill us, and it will eventually succeed. So why help it along? My life may not have turned out the way I wanted it to, or the way I expected it to, but, for now, I still have one. And there are things that I want to do before the time runs out, things that I think are still within my grasp…like getting my novels published, and visiting my friend Dagi in Germany. I want to spend more time in the green summer woods back east, too. Maybe I’m getting a little of my momentum back. I can almost say it and mean it through and through, or mostly, or mean it enough anyway: I want to live, baby.