Your mother is rubber, and I'm glue..

...and whatever you say bounces off her...
and sticks to me.

So I had pneumonia, it's been a month now since I took a desperate cab ride to Urgent Care and although I no longer feel the fickle eye of Death upon me...my lungs refuse to give up the rattling of chains and general gasping rasp that has taken residence in the deepest bronchial spots of my lungs. I have quit smoking. And still it persists. This cough. I went out last night, had 3 pints of Fat Tire and smoked 2 cigarettes (this is like a Bible thumping neo-christ kid's college slip-up compared to my usual habits) and Fuck..I feel so rotten today, I worry I may have seriously set myself back on the healing I've done so far. I am coming to terms with the fact that my lifestyle is changing..slowly turning towards strange desires involving long life and grandchildren and giving a shit about my health in general. It is hard to reconcile this with the stubborn ideas of who I already think I am.
Will a regular eating habit make me a more boring lyricist?
Will pinker lungs cause me to be less innovative on the guitar?
Will getting adequate sleep make me stupid, mediocre, or conventional?
Will I change into some average tanning-bed woman who wants things like hideous diamonds and $200.00 turkey roasters?
Well, of course not. Of course when I type it out like that it sounds absolutely ridiculous. I know it is, but honestly I swear..
I think I'm actually afraid of this happening.
Why the hell would any of this happen? Because I want to NOT die of lung cancer or be able to drink people 3x my size under the table?
Fuck. Sometimes I think I am loony as a Manson Girl.