Black Lung

I slept three hours last night. My face is starting to look like a skulking ghoul’s. I could play in a Tim Burton movie. It’s hard to be certain, but I think the lungs are getting a bit more air today. Maybe the Xolair is working, though the doctor said it could take a couple months and I only got the first shots last Wednesday. I spent a half hour doing some strength training in the garage: it was rough going and I felt gobby and faint inside, but I felt better afterwards. You know…when I stopped exercising.

Last night I hit the wrong button somewhere and downloaded 9,000 emails from the past ten years onto my hard drive. I spent some time today looking through some of the older ones. Quite a few were to people who have departed this life: my dad, Torrey M., David C. Even more were to people who are out of my life for reasons other than death.

I still have a draft of Torrey’s first novel, an attachment in one of those emails. He eventually severed our relationship because I am a Christian, but I liked him and admired his talent as a writer. I was thinking about Torrey the other day that maybe he never had a plan for what he would do if he didn’t get famous. He was ambitious and condescending and often just a jerk. He asked me to critique the book back then, 2006. It was pretty interesting. I don’t know if he ever submitted it for publication anywhere before he took his own life.


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