Of all the patients on hospice, I've been here the longest. I am grateful for the roof over my head, even though I've also grown to hate it. Things have to change. Don't know how, don't know when.

Some real science is going into this venture, and I am so pleased. I am the ideal candidate. The perfect lab rat. My Steam Deck gets to be medical equipment for a night. This has to end.

As I pick fights with everyone in a vain attempt to preserve my own life, I just... think about this quote and then I go for the fucking throat.

I am about to pick a really big fight soon. Might end in disaster. All I have is ink and rage.

What are my options? More appeals. More paperwork. More threats saying that I could be blacklisted from state services—a death sentence, really. Imagine being homeless. Yeah. No where to plug in my wheelchair. That'd suck. I refuse to just quit. I want my final years to be on my own terms.