Are we twins separated at diagnosis? I, too, have turned my midlife (plus tax) crisis into an elaborate hardware store loyalty program. The only thing I’ve built so far is debt and a suspicious-looking pile of tools that scream “compensation project.” Shop class was my last formal training, too — unless you count YouTube, which, let’s be honest, has turned us all into dangerously confident hobbyists.

As for your reaction? Not odd at all. I think it’s the new normal for guys like us. Initial tears, existential dread, spontaneous declarations of love... and then Google takes over. Google is the new oncologist, therapist, spiritual guide, and self-inflicted panic button. Less than one year in and I’ve practically earned a PhD in prostate cancer, sub-specializing in late-night overthinking.

Also, amen to the weirdness of "not suffering." It’s like waiting for the other shoe to drop, except it’s not a shoe — it’s a lead boot filled with hormone gel and urinary pads. I keep wondering if I’m in some Kafkaesque holding pattern where side effects are doled out by lottery.

At least we have our keyboards, tool addictions, and ambitious projects that make no financial sense. Beats sitting around waiting for the next PSA test to roll in like a bad Yelp review.

Seriously, though, thanks for this — it’s oddly comforting knowing there are other obsessively Googling piano-playing tool hoarders out there, whistling in the radioactive dark.