March 8, 2017. Examination room, doctor’s office. My heart moves like a fat dude on a dance floor. No rhythm, man. No rhythm.
But I’m here and I’m glad. Three years ago today that bad rhythm almost cost me everything. An implanted defibrillator and a piss-and-vinegar mean streak kept me alive then and continue to watch over me today. Just gotta find my rhythm, man. Gotta find my rhythm.
Happy re-birthday to me!