† SINISTER PUBLICATIONS†

I wasted seven fucken days laid out on the couch like a sack of dirty, rotten potatoes, as if life had suddenly lost all meaning.

How did it start? Hell if I know.

One day I was living my best life. The next, I had a cough that started lingering around like an unwanted relative. On top of that, I decided to have some gay ass Topo Chico seltzers. I know they’re not manly. I know they’re weak compared to straight liquor. But beer gives me gout flares, so this is what lets me disassociate and do my thang.

I usually go for the Ranch Waters, but XoXos only had the flavored ones. The fruity-tooty ones.

I didn’t even drink much. Just a little 12-pack.

Then boom.

The next day I was breathing like a dying feral hog and coughing up a storm. Not only that, but I felt like I’d been jumped by six hoodlums in a dark alley. Everything hurt. Fever. Chills. Body aches. The whole miserable package.

At one point it felt like life tossed me straight into the sun, then threw me into a black hole afterward so I could cool off from the ass beating.

Seven freaking days.

Gone.

Seven days where I could’ve gone to Ruidoso. Could’ve gone to Cloudcroft. Could’ve done literally anything other than marinate on my couch in my own misery.

The worst part was how much it felt like Covid.

No appetite.

No energy.

Chills.

Fever.

Coughing.

And diarrhea.

Not explosive diarrhea.

Just the kind that lets you know life is still actively finding new ways to disrespect you.

---

I don’t know what it is about being sick, but sickness always takes me to a dark place.

Sure, I was watching movies and TV shows. I was scrolling through YouTube. But mentally, I was locked away in my own prison block.

I felt worthless.

Like some washed-up idiot laid out in the desert sun, waiting to die for everyone’s sins even though nobody asked him to.

I hated life.

I hated my decisions.

I hated missed opportunities.

I hated that jefito isn’t here anymore.

For a brief moment, I became the Ultimate Hater.

Thanos would’ve looked at me and said:

“Damn, bro. Relax.”

---

Then I started getting better.

Not all better.

Just enough.

Enough to remember that I’m still me.

Enough to remember that no matter how dark things get, I eventually crawl my way back out.

Nine days into the suffering, I felt human again and decided to celebrate the occasion with another round of seltzers.

Because apparently I learn life lessons the same way a toddler learns not to touch a hot stove.

Repeatedly.

So here I am.

Coughing again.

Questioning my decisions again.

Regretting my choices again.

Learning the same lesson again.

And somewhere in the middle of all this nonsense, I can already hear life laughing its ass off and saying:

“You done yet, cabrón?”

And, against all reason and common sense, I already know my answer.

“Naw, bruh.”