There really is no wrong way to eat a Reese's.

Unless, of course, you're eating a cookie, in which case the aforementioned candy and the various ways of its consumption have no relevance whatsoever. On that note, I have once again confirmed to myself that my reaction was completely right when the doctors first told me my diagnosis, way back in Boston. I broke down on the bathroom floor, sobbing. Not because I had cancer, but because I had to return to a world I had left over five years earlier. The hardest thing in the world for an independent person is to have that all taken away from you. People are expecting me to come out of this whole situation with a completely different attitude, with a new perspective on life. Okay, yes, I appreciate the small things more, and I know cancer will always be a part of my life, along with the unspoken fear that it could return. That definitely constitutes at least a different perspective. But more than anything, this is making me appreciate what I had, and it's killing me that I no longer have it. Most of us discontentedly, unthinkingly go through the drudgery of daily living: bagel and weak coffee for breakfast from the dining hall; rush off to class, struggle to stay awake during the lecture where you wonder if your teacher always speaks in a monotone, or just here; head to lunch for a burrito or a slice of pizza, a sandwich if you feel like risking the often sketchy sandwich-makers; another class only slightly more interesting than the first, except for, "awesome, a project due next week, assigned today. Sweet, thanks." Then work, if you work, minimum wage for college students because businesses can pay that little because there are so many students. Then dinner, maybe some interesting meat product with rather mushy vegetables, then back to your dorm room for a few hours of homework, i.e. Guitar Hero II. If you're lucky, you've squeezed in a nap. If you're me, you've squeezed in a few espressos. Sleep a few hours, awake, arise, repeat. And you know what? I miss that so Damn much. I am trying very hard not to complain about the situation I'm in (I know, sure seems that way, huh.). But it's hard. It's hard living somewhere where you'd rather not be, and it's especially hard when my emotions are pretty much in a constant flux. And I know it's hard on my parents because it's fairly obvious that I'm having a tough time here. I am so grateful that the chemo is going as well as it is, but that's a double-edged sword. It means I generally feel fine, but have nothing to do with myself. At least if I felt like crap I'd have an excuse for loafing around. But you know what? Everyone has tough times, none any less significant than anyone else's. I'm pretty sure a girl I went to highschool with just died, and I can't even imagine what her friends and family are going through. My heart goes out to them because their lives are forever changed. And I've just got cabin fever. I guess it will eventually pass, and it will be replaced by some other dominant emotion to control me for a while. It's how I roll. But I am thankful to be alive, every single day to be alive. And I know it doesn't seem like it now, but I'm grateful to my parents for dealing with me, and I thank even more anyone who's ever called or said hi, offered a brief quip to make me laugh. It's those stupid little things that make every day bearable. Everyone has their own problems to figure out. Hopefully, they'll have someone near and dear to help them through. But if not, from what I hear, things get better. Life goes on. As do my (b)log posts too, apparently. Oh well. Night.