Ask anyone who knows me.

[seymoure]

There are a lot of things people will say. Stubborn, I'll cop to that. Opinionated, guilty as charged. Quitter? I don't know how to quit. Never did. Or, at least never knew I knew how. But, maybe I had given up. On me. I had reached a point where I thought I would never get any better. That it was all downhill from here. That's how it goes with people who have as many things malfunctioning within them as have I, and no one thinks a thing about it. I could just let people take care of me. I have worked hard all my life, overcome some hellatious obstacles, and maybe it was time to go gentle. Sometime this afternoon, in the midst of climbing out of this prolonged flu, with its refusal to let food sound good, and all night diarrhea sessions, I thought to myself. No. That's just what they'll be expecting. No, dammit, I'm going to get over this, then I'm going to stand without pain, walk every day, and confuse the hell out of everybody who has written me off (including me) I will get back to performing and film-making and grandfathering and making life a pain for the women in my life. Because that's what I do! And, if I die, they are going to have to catch me. Do not go gentle into that good night? Hell, I'll be armed and surly, and you'd better bring some big dogs, cause I'm going to put up a hell of a fight.