GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #284: MY ATTEMPT AT LIFE

My doctor has always taken a hard line with me. When he saw I was reading a Walking Dead novel, he said, "Do you know who doesn't survive the zombie apocalypse? Fat diabetics." He also told me that I have to avoid the 5 Ps. I only remember pizza, pasta and Portillo's, but there were two others. He also said I should hang out outside of Taco Bell and compare the fat people who go in to the skinny people.


So when I saw him recently, he merely said that I'd gone in and out of the hospital. What did that mean? "That I'm doing something wrong?" I said. He nodded with very little care about it. It bugged me that he didn't care anymore. That he'd accepted my negligence.


I chose this life. I do not want to live much longer than I have. At the  same time, I figured maybe I should be better.


I took steps forward today. No more caffeine after lunch. No fast food. Two drink maximum tonight. I even worked out slightly today. I can't do leg exercises. They hurt too much for my left foot.


Let's see where this goes.