Walking back from the 7-11 around the corner from our production office, I was wont to reflect on the large circle of human beings also known as "my friends". Don't know if it was the joi de vivre over purchasing a 1.5L of Arrowhead water or the fumes wafting from the 405 Freeway, but a sense of well-being washed over me as I narrowly escaped death while crossing Sepulveda:

I have some of the best friends on the planet. Shit, I'd reckon on most planets. Except for Artiris. There are some pretty rockin' folks there. However, when it gets dark, they try to eat your brains, so, you know, half empty/half full.

I guess when the word spreads that you've been in the hospital is a major time when you realize the amazing people you've surrounded yourself with. Unfortunately, it seems to always take a tragedy to snap us into reality and see our lives as they exist. So many lovely people who genuinely give a crap about me took the time to call, write, send flowers, tell me that if I need anything at all, to just call them (which is always a weird one. What if I said, yeah, I could use some cat food, paper towels, and a 65 watt light bulb, please?). The gestures of humanity and kindness actually got a little overwhelming at times. I'm not exactly a person who ever asks for anything, including affection and love from pals, but in getting it, I realized that THAT is what the makeup of friendship truly is.

My friend Leamy called in a panic and talked with me for an hour the day I got home. Ann and I wrote (and continue to write) back and forth and compare stroke notes. Not a day goes by where someone doesn't ask me, "you feeling okay?", and as annoying as you'd think that would get, it's really quite a beautiful gesture.

I guess when it boils down, I need to try and feel that awe for my friends as often as I can, because I care for them that much, and I should be willing to accept that I deserve their feeling that way about me