Dear you two,
I have very little to say to either of you, as it turns out.
Parent one - I honestly think that if you died, the only thing that would make me upset was the fact that I wasn't upset. I'm sure I'd be upset a bit, but nothing compared to what happened when friends died.
Parent two - you're my best friend. I'm sorry I was so horrible to you those two years, it was a mistake on my part, and some serious hoodwinking on your counterparts.
-me.
Monday, August 30, 2010
Thursday, August 26, 2010
It's eleven-twenty, and I have to be up at quarter of eight for work.
So I'm blogging. Seems logical, correct?
It isn't. But I can't stop coughing long enough to breathe, let alone sleep, and my best friend isn't answering my text, and I don't want to be a nuisance and call him. So instead I'll sit in bed, trying not to puke again, and be unaware of whether or not the tears running down my face are because I'm scared or because I'm coughing so hard I'm vomiting. Take your pick; either one isn't pleasant.
We are reaching the five year mark of my first diagnosis, and I find that my body is going through hospital withdrawals. How else will you explain the fact that I've been in the Jimmy Fund twice the past two weeks, and on the Pulmonary floor, as well? If you have any other explanations, please let me and the med school grads know, because they have no fucking idea, and it's pissing me off. Doctors have the tendency to want to ignore something if it's not there right at the moment they're looking for it. So when I'm meeting with the pulmonary team today, it's only sensible that they think because I'm a two time cancer survivor, we're blowing this out of proportion, and decide that the best course of treatment for this six-month long cough and puke-fest is a third course of antibiotic, because obviously it's just a really persistent strain of bronchitis. And, of course, the antibiotic is one I'm allergic to. Life's great.
But really, all the antibiotic means is that they have no idea what's wrong with me. Join the club. It was a toss up between the antibiotic and steroids, and while neither sound much fun, I'd rather not go up another pant size. I need to shed some poundage as it is. {Also, in case you were wondering, total puke count during this post - seven minutes so far, fyi - is three.}
I spent the past week worrying that what was making me cough was Graft V. Host Disease. If you don't know what that is, google it. I don't feel like freaking myself out again by going through it. We've pretty much ruled that out of the list of suspects with the CT scan from today, though apparently there were some pretty little dots by my liver that are cause for an ultrasound next time I'm in Boston. {Which, apparently, when/if the antibiotics don't work, will be within the next two to four weeks.} After this, they're going to rule out asthma with the steroids, which I can already tell it won't be. {Let me just also insert here that if this thing is fucking bronchitis, I am going to be incredibly pissed off.} And after it isn't asthma, well, then we get to go do the fun stuff. Bronchoscope's and lung biopsies, anyone? Because you know, since the docs assuaged my fears of GVHD, they had to bring in a new one. Also not very likely, but still a possibility, considering how my body likes to buck the odds. Leukemia in my lungs. Wouldn't THAT be fun? Now I get to freak out about that.
Okay. I have work in eight hours. I'm going to go make some tea, try to stop crying/coughing induced-crying, and go to sleep. {Puke tally - now four. Phone calls made - one. Phone calls answered - zero. Freaking out stage - past defcon five.}{edit: the phone call was returned because he's awesome.}
It isn't. But I can't stop coughing long enough to breathe, let alone sleep, and my best friend isn't answering my text, and I don't want to be a nuisance and call him. So instead I'll sit in bed, trying not to puke again, and be unaware of whether or not the tears running down my face are because I'm scared or because I'm coughing so hard I'm vomiting. Take your pick; either one isn't pleasant.
We are reaching the five year mark of my first diagnosis, and I find that my body is going through hospital withdrawals. How else will you explain the fact that I've been in the Jimmy Fund twice the past two weeks, and on the Pulmonary floor, as well? If you have any other explanations, please let me and the med school grads know, because they have no fucking idea, and it's pissing me off. Doctors have the tendency to want to ignore something if it's not there right at the moment they're looking for it. So when I'm meeting with the pulmonary team today, it's only sensible that they think because I'm a two time cancer survivor, we're blowing this out of proportion, and decide that the best course of treatment for this six-month long cough and puke-fest is a third course of antibiotic, because obviously it's just a really persistent strain of bronchitis. And, of course, the antibiotic is one I'm allergic to. Life's great.
But really, all the antibiotic means is that they have no idea what's wrong with me. Join the club. It was a toss up between the antibiotic and steroids, and while neither sound much fun, I'd rather not go up another pant size. I need to shed some poundage as it is. {Also, in case you were wondering, total puke count during this post - seven minutes so far, fyi - is three.}
I spent the past week worrying that what was making me cough was Graft V. Host Disease. If you don't know what that is, google it. I don't feel like freaking myself out again by going through it. We've pretty much ruled that out of the list of suspects with the CT scan from today, though apparently there were some pretty little dots by my liver that are cause for an ultrasound next time I'm in Boston. {Which, apparently, when/if the antibiotics don't work, will be within the next two to four weeks.} After this, they're going to rule out asthma with the steroids, which I can already tell it won't be. {Let me just also insert here that if this thing is fucking bronchitis, I am going to be incredibly pissed off.} And after it isn't asthma, well, then we get to go do the fun stuff. Bronchoscope's and lung biopsies, anyone? Because you know, since the docs assuaged my fears of GVHD, they had to bring in a new one. Also not very likely, but still a possibility, considering how my body likes to buck the odds. Leukemia in my lungs. Wouldn't THAT be fun? Now I get to freak out about that.
Okay. I have work in eight hours. I'm going to go make some tea, try to stop crying/coughing induced-crying, and go to sleep. {Puke tally - now four. Phone calls made - one. Phone calls answered - zero. Freaking out stage - past defcon five.}{edit: the phone call was returned because he's awesome.}
Monday, August 23, 2010
Day 2 - Your crush
Dear you,
First off, let me say I hope I meet you soon, because crushing on a figment of my imagination is not doing wonders for my sanity. Neither is your ever-changing appearance, in case you were wondering.
Now that we've gotten that out of the way, let's move on. I hope this letter finds you well, and my other brain-figments aren't giving you too much of a hard time. [Because let's face it - they're my brain-figments, there's no way they aren't giving you any trouble.] They're just going to have to get used to you, though, because I don't think you're going away any time soon.
Let's now move on to the things I like about you, the things that make you "crush worthy." I could probably go on for hours and millions of numbers, and I'm sure you'd like that, because what guy doesn't like to have his ego stroked, but I'll limit myself to your top ten.
You'll come into the store, and I'll have my eye on you, because I think you're cute. You'll be eyeing me a bit, too, and we'll occasionally make eye contact, and when we do, I'll look down and smile, embarrassed to be caught ogling the customers. You'll wait a good five minutes or so before coming over to the counter and asking me for some good recommendations. I'll smile with my entire face, and bounce along the wall of books, pointing out the ones I like, and the ones I think you'll like. I'll be overly flirty, but you won't care, because you find it kind of endearing. You'll thank me, and go sit down with the pile of books I just handed you, trying to make your decision. In the end, you'll choose two: the John Green book I absolutely raved about, and the Jonathan Tropper book from downstairs that I told you you had to read, as well. You'll come back upstairs to my register under the guise of making sure that the book you picked up was the right one, and we'll start talking again. You'll ask me about my favorite authors, and I'll tell you that I can't pick just one. You'll tell me that you feel the same way, and somehow, because it always does with me, we'll get to the subject of Harry Potter. I'll tell you about A Very Potter Musical, which won't sound as interesting as it should to you, but you'll say you'll go home and watch it anyway. I'll grin when you say that you will, and tell you that you'll have to come back in and tell me what you thought. You'll nod, and say that you don't know when you'll be able to make it back in though, because you've just moved here, and you have to help your family settle in. The act of kindness towards your family will make me swoon a little bit, and I'll offer to show you, and even your family, around the island if you want. You'll nod again and say that that would be great, and I'll scribble my number down on the back of your receipt.
A few days later, my phone will ring, and it'll be you. School is starting in a few days, you'll say, and I'll have to be going back off to college. It's my freshman year, you see. I'll understand, and say that that's too bad, and that I wish you could stay longer, but what is the point of this call if you're leaving soon? You'll be silent for a few seconds, and I'll worry that I was being too forward, but eventually you'll chuckle and say that I caught you, that you were calling to ask me out to dinner if it wouldn't be too much of a bother.
I, of course, will accept, and bring you to my favorite restaurant, where we'll talk about everything. You'll admit to not having watched the youtube sensation I told you to yet, and I'll tease you relentlessly throughout the entire meal. At the end of the night, you'll drive me home, and you'll grab my hand as soon as you start the car. You'll walk me up to my doorstep, and say that you had a really amazing time tonight, and that we need to do it again soon. I'll agree, and you'll kiss me softly on the lips before turning and leaving, and we'll all live happily ever after.
The end.
Now doesn't that just sound like perfection? So let's work on making this dream a reality, shall we?
Love,
me
First off, let me say I hope I meet you soon, because crushing on a figment of my imagination is not doing wonders for my sanity. Neither is your ever-changing appearance, in case you were wondering.
Now that we've gotten that out of the way, let's move on. I hope this letter finds you well, and my other brain-figments aren't giving you too much of a hard time. [Because let's face it - they're my brain-figments, there's no way they aren't giving you any trouble.] They're just going to have to get used to you, though, because I don't think you're going away any time soon.
Let's now move on to the things I like about you, the things that make you "crush worthy." I could probably go on for hours and millions of numbers, and I'm sure you'd like that, because what guy doesn't like to have his ego stroked, but I'll limit myself to your top ten.
- Your accent. We all know I have a fetish for them, but your all-American southern Alabama accent just takes the apple pie.
- Your hair, in particular the scruff around your face, though the "a little longer and it'll be shaggy" golden brown hair atop your head ain't hurting, either.
- Is it bad to say your size? Because honey, I absolutely adore the fact that you're a foot taller than me and you can pick me up like I was a down comforter.
- The way you protect me. I may be one of the biggest feminists you will ever meet, but I'd be lying if I said it didn't feel good to have your glances harden and your hand take mine every time some skeezeball looks for a second too long.
- I'd also be lying if I said I didn't swoon each time you picked up a guitar. I know it's cliche, but hey - it's definitely working for you.
- The way you make me feel like I am the only one who merits your attention, the only thing in the room that's happening worth any sort of focus. I feel like the world could be ending while I'm telling you some stupid story about what happened to me, and you wouldn't even notice. Gotta love a guy who pays attention.
- The fact that you actually pay attention to your surroundings. I know that totally contradicts what I just said, but I mean it in a different way. You read the paper. You read books - god, I can't tell you how hard it is to find an attractive guy who actually reads books. Believe me - I've tried.
- Your humor, and the fact that you actually get mine.
- The fact that being with you doesn't come with any drama attached at the hip.
- Everything about you. Yeah, I know it's stupid, but hey, it's true.
You'll come into the store, and I'll have my eye on you, because I think you're cute. You'll be eyeing me a bit, too, and we'll occasionally make eye contact, and when we do, I'll look down and smile, embarrassed to be caught ogling the customers. You'll wait a good five minutes or so before coming over to the counter and asking me for some good recommendations. I'll smile with my entire face, and bounce along the wall of books, pointing out the ones I like, and the ones I think you'll like. I'll be overly flirty, but you won't care, because you find it kind of endearing. You'll thank me, and go sit down with the pile of books I just handed you, trying to make your decision. In the end, you'll choose two: the John Green book I absolutely raved about, and the Jonathan Tropper book from downstairs that I told you you had to read, as well. You'll come back upstairs to my register under the guise of making sure that the book you picked up was the right one, and we'll start talking again. You'll ask me about my favorite authors, and I'll tell you that I can't pick just one. You'll tell me that you feel the same way, and somehow, because it always does with me, we'll get to the subject of Harry Potter. I'll tell you about A Very Potter Musical, which won't sound as interesting as it should to you, but you'll say you'll go home and watch it anyway. I'll grin when you say that you will, and tell you that you'll have to come back in and tell me what you thought. You'll nod, and say that you don't know when you'll be able to make it back in though, because you've just moved here, and you have to help your family settle in. The act of kindness towards your family will make me swoon a little bit, and I'll offer to show you, and even your family, around the island if you want. You'll nod again and say that that would be great, and I'll scribble my number down on the back of your receipt.
A few days later, my phone will ring, and it'll be you. School is starting in a few days, you'll say, and I'll have to be going back off to college. It's my freshman year, you see. I'll understand, and say that that's too bad, and that I wish you could stay longer, but what is the point of this call if you're leaving soon? You'll be silent for a few seconds, and I'll worry that I was being too forward, but eventually you'll chuckle and say that I caught you, that you were calling to ask me out to dinner if it wouldn't be too much of a bother.
I, of course, will accept, and bring you to my favorite restaurant, where we'll talk about everything. You'll admit to not having watched the youtube sensation I told you to yet, and I'll tease you relentlessly throughout the entire meal. At the end of the night, you'll drive me home, and you'll grab my hand as soon as you start the car. You'll walk me up to my doorstep, and say that you had a really amazing time tonight, and that we need to do it again soon. I'll agree, and you'll kiss me softly on the lips before turning and leaving, and we'll all live happily ever after.
The end.
Now doesn't that just sound like perfection? So let's work on making this dream a reality, shall we?
Love,
me
Sunday, August 22, 2010
Eat Pray Love put me in this mood.
I want to do something life-changing. I want to do something that will reconfigure the way I see and look at things. I want to feel connected to someone, connected in a way that I can't even begin to explain. I want to change someone's life, to make a difference for them, even if it's just for one person. I want to be able to have someone point at me and say, "She changed my life, altered the way I think, and all for the better." I want to see and do things that I'm scared of, and be able to tell the people I love that I love them without worrying of what they'll think.
I want to learn about myself. I want to know the way my mind works, even though some of the truths will undoubtedly be ugly. I can't learn to love someone else until I know how to love myself, I can't learn how to love myself until I understand myself, and I don't think I can begin to understand myself until I begin to fix myself. To pick up after the hurt, and the disappointment, and glue the many pieces back together.
Gandhi said that [excuse me while I butcher this quote] "Almost everything you do will be insignificant, but it is of the upmost importance that you do it." But what happens if we don't even know what it is we are supposed to be doing?
I want to learn about myself. I want to know the way my mind works, even though some of the truths will undoubtedly be ugly. I can't learn to love someone else until I know how to love myself, I can't learn how to love myself until I understand myself, and I don't think I can begin to understand myself until I begin to fix myself. To pick up after the hurt, and the disappointment, and glue the many pieces back together.
Gandhi said that [excuse me while I butcher this quote] "Almost everything you do will be insignificant, but it is of the upmost importance that you do it." But what happens if we don't even know what it is we are supposed to be doing?
Day 1 - letter to your best friend
Dear you,
Hi. I'm hoping you know who you are, and if you don't already, you'll know by the end of this letter. I had a hard time picking which close friend to use for this letter, but in the end, it was you, because not only have we been friends the longest, we've been through the most amount of shit together.
So here we are. This is my letter to you. I feel odd typing it, since I don't normally type letters, but I am since I'm posting it on da blog. Which I don't even think you read. But okay. Here it really goes.
How are you doing at this moment? We've exchanged a few words today, but they were mostly about me, and now I'm feeling bad again about that :p I've been thinking about our friendship a lot lately, so that's actually probably going to be most of what this letter is about.
I think it's best put as saying that our friendship is intense. Extremely intense. We met under odd circumstances, and we went through some of the hardest times in my life together. Times that I honestly don't think I would have made it through as well as I did without you to lean on. The other night you were telling me how much I meant to you, and I felt... I don't know. I felt wanted, needed, appreciated, and I can't tell you how valuable those feelings are to me, though I think you probably already know.
You are the one person in the world who I feel like I can talk to about anything. You're the one person in the world who didn't treat me the least bit different when you found out that I had had cancer. You're the only one who I can count on to be there, and not get scared away. There have been times when all I've wanted to do was curl up in a ball on the floor of my room, and sob until my eyes were crimson and I passed out from dehydration, and then I'd talk to you, and somehow, you would make it all better, even though sometimes, you contributed to it. But it's like one of the lead singers of my favorite guilty pleasure bands said - "The closest friends you'll have are the ones that you'd take a bullet for, but they're the ones you constantly feel you could put a bullet in as well."
I love that we talk about our problems together. I love that we talk about random things until two in the morning. I love debating good bands and bad ones that are complete guilty pleasures. I love it when you text me with something totally random, just because you think I'll enjoy it. I love your jokes - well, the funny ones. Mostly, I love being your friend, and I love that you give me a chance to be myself without any repercussions or judgments.
This letter is a mess. A wicked messy mushy mess. So I'm going to add in the lyrics to Weezer's lyrics to "My Best Friend." Every time I listen to this song I almost start crying, and it reminds me of you. A ton.
Love you, kid,
me.
When everything is wrong I'll come talk to you
You make things alright when I'm feeling blue
You are such a blessing and I wont be messing
with the one thing that brings light to all my darkness
You're my best friend
and I love you, and I love you
Yes I do
There is no other one who can take your place
I feel happy inside when I see your face
I hope you believe me
'Cause I speak sincerely
and I mean it when I tell you that I need you
You're my best friend
and I love you, and I love you
Yes I do
I'm here right beside you
I will never leave you
and I feel the pain you feel when you start crying
You're my best friend
and I love you, and I love you
Yes I do
You're my best friend
and I love you, and I love you
Yes I do
Yes I do...
Yes I do.
Hi. I'm hoping you know who you are, and if you don't already, you'll know by the end of this letter. I had a hard time picking which close friend to use for this letter, but in the end, it was you, because not only have we been friends the longest, we've been through the most amount of shit together.
So here we are. This is my letter to you. I feel odd typing it, since I don't normally type letters, but I am since I'm posting it on da blog. Which I don't even think you read. But okay. Here it really goes.
How are you doing at this moment? We've exchanged a few words today, but they were mostly about me, and now I'm feeling bad again about that :p I've been thinking about our friendship a lot lately, so that's actually probably going to be most of what this letter is about.
I think it's best put as saying that our friendship is intense. Extremely intense. We met under odd circumstances, and we went through some of the hardest times in my life together. Times that I honestly don't think I would have made it through as well as I did without you to lean on. The other night you were telling me how much I meant to you, and I felt... I don't know. I felt wanted, needed, appreciated, and I can't tell you how valuable those feelings are to me, though I think you probably already know.
You are the one person in the world who I feel like I can talk to about anything. You're the one person in the world who didn't treat me the least bit different when you found out that I had had cancer. You're the only one who I can count on to be there, and not get scared away. There have been times when all I've wanted to do was curl up in a ball on the floor of my room, and sob until my eyes were crimson and I passed out from dehydration, and then I'd talk to you, and somehow, you would make it all better, even though sometimes, you contributed to it. But it's like one of the lead singers of my favorite guilty pleasure bands said - "The closest friends you'll have are the ones that you'd take a bullet for, but they're the ones you constantly feel you could put a bullet in as well."
I love that we talk about our problems together. I love that we talk about random things until two in the morning. I love debating good bands and bad ones that are complete guilty pleasures. I love it when you text me with something totally random, just because you think I'll enjoy it. I love your jokes - well, the funny ones. Mostly, I love being your friend, and I love that you give me a chance to be myself without any repercussions or judgments.
This letter is a mess. A wicked messy mushy mess. So I'm going to add in the lyrics to Weezer's lyrics to "My Best Friend." Every time I listen to this song I almost start crying, and it reminds me of you. A ton.
Love you, kid,
me.
When everything is wrong I'll come talk to you
You make things alright when I'm feeling blue
You are such a blessing and I wont be messing
with the one thing that brings light to all my darkness
You're my best friend
and I love you, and I love you
Yes I do
There is no other one who can take your place
I feel happy inside when I see your face
I hope you believe me
'Cause I speak sincerely
and I mean it when I tell you that I need you
You're my best friend
and I love you, and I love you
Yes I do
I'm here right beside you
I will never leave you
and I feel the pain you feel when you start crying
You're my best friend
and I love you, and I love you
Yes I do
You're my best friend
and I love you, and I love you
Yes I do
Yes I do...
Yes I do.
30 Days of Letters.
Starting today, I'm going to be participating in the thirty days of letters challenge. I can't promise that I'll do it perfectly, or every day, but I'm going to try. These are the challenges, if you were wondering/wanted to do it.
Day 1 — Your Best Friend
Day 2 — Your Crush
Day 3 — Your parents
Day 4 —Your sibling (or closest relative)
Day 5 — Your dreams
Day 6 — A stranger
Day 7 — Your Ex-boyfriend/girlfriend/love/crush
Day 8 — Your favorite internet friend
Day 9 — Someone you wish you could meet
Day 10 — Someone you don’t talk to as much as you’d like to
Day 11 — A Deceased person you wish you could talk to
Day 12 — The person you hate most/caused you a lot of pain
Day 13 — Someone you wish could forgive you
Day 14 — Someone you’ve drifted away from
Day 15 — The person you miss the most
Day 16 — Someone that’s not in your state/country
Day 17 — Someone from your childhood
Day 18 — The person that you wish you could be
Day 19 — Someone that pesters your mind—good or bad
Day 20 — The one that broke your heart the hardest
Day 21 — Someone you judged by their first impression
Day 22 — Someone you want to give a second chance to
Day 23 — The last person you kissed
Day 24 — The person that gave you your favorite memory
Day 25 — The person you know that is going through the worst of times
Day 26 — The last person you made a pinky promise to
Day 27 — The friendliest person you knew for only one day
Day 28 — Someone that changed your life
Day 29 — The person that you want tell everything to, but too afraid to
Day 30 — Your reflection in the mirror
Day 1 — Your Best Friend
Day 2 — Your Crush
Day 3 — Your parents
Day 4 —Your sibling (or closest relative)
Day 5 — Your dreams
Day 6 — A stranger
Day 7 — Your Ex-boyfriend/girlfriend/love/crush
Day 8 — Your favorite internet friend
Day 9 — Someone you wish you could meet
Day 10 — Someone you don’t talk to as much as you’d like to
Day 11 — A Deceased person you wish you could talk to
Day 12 — The person you hate most/caused you a lot of pain
Day 13 — Someone you wish could forgive you
Day 14 — Someone you’ve drifted away from
Day 15 — The person you miss the most
Day 16 — Someone that’s not in your state/country
Day 17 — Someone from your childhood
Day 18 — The person that you wish you could be
Day 19 — Someone that pesters your mind—good or bad
Day 20 — The one that broke your heart the hardest
Day 21 — Someone you judged by their first impression
Day 22 — Someone you want to give a second chance to
Day 23 — The last person you kissed
Day 24 — The person that gave you your favorite memory
Day 25 — The person you know that is going through the worst of times
Day 26 — The last person you made a pinky promise to
Day 27 — The friendliest person you knew for only one day
Day 28 — Someone that changed your life
Day 29 — The person that you want tell everything to, but too afraid to
Day 30 — Your reflection in the mirror
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
if there was a class in wanting, i'd pass with flying zebras.
I want to take a road-trip.
I want a best friend who loves me even though I have my insane moments, and I complain/talk more than any human has a god given right to, and even though I show my affection with incredibly horrid teasing.
I want to be a part of the Quimby family.
I want to be a cool grown-up.
I want to be able to have kids.
I want to be able to watch ads for St. Judes and St. Baldricks without wanting to throw my computer or television across the room.
I want to be able to crank out a book in six weeks.
I want to be called pretty, and beautiful, and baby.
I want to be invaluable and interesting, someone indispensable.
I want to live in a movie, or a television show, where there may be problems, but they're resolved by the end of the show/two hour period.
I want to be the kind of person who doesn't stay in her house for days on end when she doesn't have to work, and instead be the kind of person who goes out and makes the most of her life.
Want is a dangerous word. But I can't seem to get it out of my head. Which is most unfortunate, because it just makes me upset, and feel inadequate. But this list has just been a few of the things bothering me lately. Why do I always get so depressed at night? Especially when I'm on cough medication?
This sucks. Ugh and I had something totally artsy and trendy and hip and thought-provoking to say here but I totally just forgot it in a flurry of itchy forheadness.
So long, suckers. :)
I want a best friend who loves me even though I have my insane moments, and I complain/talk more than any human has a god given right to, and even though I show my affection with incredibly horrid teasing.
I want to be a part of the Quimby family.
I want to be a cool grown-up.
I want to be able to have kids.
I want to be able to watch ads for St. Judes and St. Baldricks without wanting to throw my computer or television across the room.
I want to be able to crank out a book in six weeks.
I want to be called pretty, and beautiful, and baby.
I want to be invaluable and interesting, someone indispensable.
I want to live in a movie, or a television show, where there may be problems, but they're resolved by the end of the show/two hour period.
I want to be the kind of person who doesn't stay in her house for days on end when she doesn't have to work, and instead be the kind of person who goes out and makes the most of her life.
Want is a dangerous word. But I can't seem to get it out of my head. Which is most unfortunate, because it just makes me upset, and feel inadequate. But this list has just been a few of the things bothering me lately. Why do I always get so depressed at night? Especially when I'm on cough medication?
This sucks. Ugh and I had something totally artsy and trendy and hip and thought-provoking to say here but I totally just forgot it in a flurry of itchy forheadness.
So long, suckers. :)
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