When I finish this, I will be 37. My cells will be regenerated fully. I will stare at these words, most likely, in a mixture of disgust and nostalgia. I knew so little! I was so ignorant! I had no idea what would happen, what combination of success and failure, illness and wellness. By the time the last sentence stops, I may be a father of 3. I may be breathing from a tube; there may be no world that would have me write.