For the last seven days there has been a marching band rehearsing in my stomach.
They stomp around, bumping into each other, trying to find the right cadence, but it’s total anarchy.
I’m not going to lie; this round has been a little rough. I know chemotherapy as a weight loss tool is problematic on many levels, but juice, fruit, probiotic, you can have them all, there is no cleanse like a chemo cleanse. Yesterday I am pretty sure I threw up a pepperoni pizza I ate in high school. I am a shadow of my former self. But a tiny wisp of a boy. My daughter has checked suitcases at LAX that weigh more than I do now.
Hopefully, things will be on the upswing for the next few weeks, before they dose me with the full American plan once again.
Yep, that’s it. That’s all I got for now.
You try writing cutting edge comedy with high school pizza on your pajamas.