My brother was in touch today, as he can be when the column takes a certain direction, to ask: everything all right? I reassured him I remain good as gold and have not stopped thinking about tomorrow.
Yesterday's column took the form it did because I’d left it to Hazel to choose her excerpt, and she’d picked a passage about mortality, and I will never not have plenty to offer on the subject. So off we went, dicing with the reaper and what have you, and thank you everyone for the thoughts and memories you offered in return.
The panic attacks sound no fun at all though, my brother said. I told him I had omitted to write that things are emphatically looking up: it’s been maybe four years since the last one and three since I quit drinking and I do not think that’s any coincidence. A happier state of health sends fewer alarm twinges. I feel good, I feel positive, I very much do.
