-
Florida is NOT for Beginners
Florida does not operate like the rest of the country, and it has no interest in apologizing for that. Between airborne iguanas, backyard alligators, sideways weather, and errands that become endurance events, survival here depends on patience, preparation, and accepting that normal is a flexible, deeply unreliable concept.
-
The Quiet Aftermath
After survival, nobody warns you about the quiet aftermath. The emergency is over, but the maintenance begins: appointments, pills, recalibration, and the strange pressure to seem finished when you are not. This is life in the administrative chapter after crisis. It is not dramatic, but it still counts.
-
This is Concerning for Malignancy
A chilling message in the patient portal reopened every fear cancer survivors know too well. After abnormal scans and rising tumor markers, I found myself waiting for answers no one wants, trapped between medical caution and memory, while one brutally honest truth kept circling back: cancer still sucks.
-
NASCAR, for the Newly Initiated
What began as wings, beer, and a completely unscientific choice of the hottest driver turned into a full-blown NASCAR obsession, a solo road trip to Atlanta, a near brush with Georgia law enforcement, a rain-soaked speedway revelation, and one unforgettable night sleeping in a Walmart parking lot with a revolver.
-
The Eye That Would Not Die
Seventeen years ago, a vicious eye infection nearly cost me my sight and my life. What followed involved an airlift to Seattle, a terrifying MedJet flight, a drug-dealing hospital roommate, an overdose, an escaped prisoner asking about dragons, and a bill proving that terror, apparently, is very expensive.
-
The Problem with Shelter in Place
When Hurricane Irma turned toward Florida’s west coast, I found myself riding it out alone with one frightened dog, three vulnerable glass doors, and a bathroom masquerading as a storm shelter. What followed was fear, absurdity, unexpected grace, and one very unsettling amphibian chorus in the eye of chaos.
-
70 Staples
Seventy staples closed the incision, but they also became something larger: a measure of the quiet, stubborn effort required to hold a life together through reconstruction. This is not a story about healing neatly. It is about what remains after survival, repair, and the long, unglamorous work of rebuilding.
70 Staples – Not broken. Rebuilt.
Survival, reinvention, and the questionable dignity of being human.
70 Staples - Not broken. Rebuilt. 