Life or consequences? More like "life and consequences".

I'm not going to sugar coat it: brain injuries suck. In the case of my TBI, I've written about the many ways my life has changed since the back of my head was introduced to a tile wall mano-a-mano, but instead of continuing with more of how the "little things" add up (in a subtractive way), I'm just going to step back and take in the big picture: which is, that life itself has fundamentally different for me.

Before I fell, I was certainly aware that my actions had consequences. I mean, if I drank too much, I'd be hungover, if I stayed up too late, I'd be tired, if I didn't exercise, I'd feel lethargic. All very straightforward stuff. And so I went through life aware that everything had a price (or a reward), and I could more or less make things better or worse for myself with a decent modicum of control.


If I work a little too much, more than three days straight, I feel like hell; if I get on a plane, I might get a migraine; if I look up, I get dizzy; if I look down, I get dizzy; if i go to the gym, I'll probably end up in bed (gotta test this one again). Shoot someone, I go to jail. (Just kidding). Anyway, you get the idea: I'm on constant pins and needles about plain old living, never mind the Vegas kind.

Yet, as Dorothy Parker says in her poem Resume:

Razors pain you;
Rivers are damp;
Acids stain you;
And drugs cause cramp.
Guns aren't lawful;
Nooses give;
Gas smells awful;
You might as well live.

And so, I'm headed to Hyde Street today to record some songs.

As Kathy Griffin would say, "My TBI can suck it."