What doesn't kill you...

....might make you an axe murder some day.

I'm honestly of the opinion that it's better to laugh about shit--even shit like my father's terminal disease.

Why?

Because the alternative is stewing in the depressing thought that my father's body will eventually shut down on him on way or another. That the man who was once highly intelligent and caring has been reduced to a petulant 5 year old trapped in a stiff and bumbling body.

But you know what we do when he falls and puts his head through a dry wall? When he starts shaking while holding a spoon at the dinner table? When he calls my brother our half brother's name and forgets mine?

We laugh. We joke. We carry on.

Because that's what we do to survive.


_{Just a stress comic before bed based on an rl conversation. Don't mind me. Just... getting something off my chest.}