Despite still experiencing stinging pain in my nethers, I stay positive about the fate of my bladder. What aids me in steering clear of moping around the house is an evening ritual that happens once dinner has been gobbled and the cleanup completed. It includes a therapeutic puff of the whathaveyou prescribed by my doctor and a ridiculously long string of ‘liked’ songs compiled on that website full of baby punchers over at Spotify. This act has been a huge factor in my healing and squashing any thoughts over my mortality, losing independence, or any of that deep shit that’s just unneeded at such crucial points in life.