You looked at my MRI and told me I had to quiet my little “hobby”. I told you I couldn’t, and you gave me a look of disgust, like I was stupid and had no ability to think of my future. My little “hobby” keeps me sane. It’s a mental sanctuary and keeps me from riding too closely to that edge of completely losing it. If I told you to just stop breathing, could you? “Hey, its for your own good, just stop breathing. You’ll be fine, I promise.” I feel like I’m writing about a drug addiction, but its something way beyond that type of feeling. I would rather drag my crippled ass into my calm sanctuary as long as I can than give it up willingly.
Oh, and while you’re at it, go shoot your dog. I bet that’s something easy to give up too.