Gray Days

Today is a very Salem-esque day, foggy and chilly with a breeze that wets one's skin and sends chills down the spine. Here, though, one can smell the ocean, an unusual scent due to the constant winds that generally blow the salty mist out to sea instead of letting it settle over the city. Though I enjoy dreary weather, even in spring, the gray day is emphasizing the foul mood I've been in for the past several days.

I've been joking a lot about the disgusting dead part of me, so as to make it less gross and scary. It's not working, though, so here's a little honesty for y'all: I'm scared. It's mostly that I don't know for sure what it is, and no one will do tests to definitively tell me. I can't help but relate it to my mom being so sick three summers ago, even though I intellectually recognize that's utterly illogical. I also intellectually recognize that if it was going to be bad, it would probably already have gotten worse and that it's going to need to get significantly worse before posing any real danger. At the same time, I notice the pictures attached to the articles about my possible diagnosis, think about episodes of House, listen to the worry from my friends and family, and generally freak myself out by knowing I have a dead chunk on my body. There's nothing I can do about it except take my antibiotics and wait and see, which frustrates me to no end.

I can't let it rule my life here, however difficult that might be. I'm leaving friday for a week in Buenas Aires (I'll see IH!) and trying my best to change my outlook on life. No matter what I do to cheer myself up, though, it's always stressing me out in the background. I suppose only time and healing can really change that, but I'm in no hurry to just wait.