Saturday morning from the rough..

Saturday morning showed up quiet…like it knew better than to kick the door in.

Coffee’s hot. House is still. And I’m sitting here in my underwear like a grown-assed American man…with a mouth full of brand new lies trying to convince myself they’re the truth.

One week in.

Seven days since I traded in what I had for what I was promised.

And I ain’t gonna sugarcoat it…this thing’s been a ride.

Some mornings I wake up feeling like I got my life back. Teeth sitting right. Pain low. Confidence creeping in like an old friend I almost forgot how to trust.

Other mornings…like today…

they feel like чужа bones in my mouth. Tight. Loose. Rubbing in places that got no business being rubbed. Gag reflex acting like it’s got opinions now. And me staring at a banana cut into pieces like I’m 9 months old trying to figure out how to eat again.

Dignity takes a hit in moments like that.

You don’t think about chewing until you can’t do it.

You don’t think about how much of your day, your rhythm, your damn identity is tied up in something as simple as biting into food…until it’s gone.

So yeah…this week?

Up and down.

Emotionally…physically…mentally.

I’ve had moments where I thought,

“What the hell did you do?”

And moments where I caught my reflection and thought,

“Damn…that might’ve been the best decision you’ve made in a long time.”

Both can be true.

That’s the part nobody tells you.

But here’s the thing…

Thursday night I got out with some coworkers.

Friday night I took Jan out.

Because life don’t pause just because you’re uncomfortable.

And turns out…you don’t have to be able to chew to drink bourbon.

Now before anybody gets all high and mighty—relax. I ain’t out here chewing steak and pretending everything’s fine. I’m surviving on soft foods, protein shakes, and stubbornness.

But I also ain’t gonna sit in this house and disappear while I figure it out.

Jan’s been something else through all this.

Patient when I’m irritable. Laughing when I’m being dramatic. Calling me out when I start acting like I’m dying instead of healing.

She ain’t letting me hide.

And I probably need that more than I want to admit.

Truth is…this isn’t just about teeth.

It’s about learning how to sit in the middle of something uncomfortable without running from it.

It’s about letting the process be messy…uneven…slow.

It’s about accepting that just because something feels wrong today doesn’t mean it won’t feel right eventually.

Right now, I’m eating like a man with no teeth.

But I’m showing up like a man who’s getting his life back.

And maybe that’s enough for week one.

Next week?

Maybe we graduate from bananas to something that fights back a little.

Or maybe we don’t.

Either way…I’ll be right here.

Coffee in hand.

Teeth in place.

Underwear on.

Figuring it out.