Note: My 2011 self wrote this. It is selectively preserved for historical interest and amusement from a lot of similar, chronologically nearby posts. That’s all. I am not as angsty any more.

So. I was hoping I could blog for once without predictably explaining something about how this doesn’t mean anything about future posts or activity or anything, but apparently I can’t get started without a lame start like this.

Eight months have passed since I started my fight with leukemia. Yes it has been a rough eight months, full of unpredictable pain, nausea, diet restrictions, and freakishly-sized needles.

I’ve been waiting for I don’t know how long for everything to go back to “normal”, but now that I look back I can no longer imagine the idea. The world, outside, still seems to be rushing at its insane pace towards maximum chaos. Economic and natural crises still seem to be always around the corner. But in here, in the hospital ward, or at home, it’s a really different feeling. I feel completely disconnected. Nothing changes; every day is waiting, waiting, waiting for the future, for a better moment or feeling or achievement.

For what, really?

I can list plenty of specific things I want. Food, in particular. The hospital meals are barely palatable and never the right temperature. There are just too many things that can’t survive half an hour of transportation no matter how you protect them. I could write a whole post about things I want to eat. I also, of course, want this IV out of my shoulder so I can act on my own. And a more dependable internet, and space to move around, and people who I can sort of interact with.

But something is still missing. A big direction, I suppose. Something to aim for, some gigantic goal or project you can always see to remind yourself that your life is adding up to something, instead of all this goddamned waiting and self-distraction for a better time that might not exist.

What did I use to consider normal? By day, classes and socializing; by night, homework, relaxation, indiscriminate websurfing. I used to wish for less of the work, and I strongly expect I’ll end up wishing that again soon, but now I seem to have all that cut out and I’m suffocating.

Can’t stand one more day in this prison, but I don’t know where the exit is either

(note: the commenting setup here is experimental and I may not check my comments often; if you want to tell me something instead of the world, email me!)