Half of the sky is orange; the other half is purple.

It is still blue overhead. It seems that no matter where I go, I will always be (somewhat) a midwest girl at heart. I am in love with the sunsets here. I've seen beautiful sunsets in Canada, Florida, France, Puerto Rico, etc. And yet I am always blown away by the beautiful simplicity of the sunsets here. I'm sure an important factor is the amount of pollution in the air here, but I try not to think about that too much. The whole tone of the world outside changes. Buildings' edges are slightly blurred, red bricks blending with the purple hues of the horizon. Windows glinting gold through trees and across lakes. And although I can't see the sun from where I am, I know it's all gold and melted butter-y, doing it's fusion thing as we rotate away from it.

Here I am, back in the hospital. I am actually in the room right next to the one I was in last time. And I have the same nurse who checked me in the first time too. I suppose that's apt for my situation: small changes are being made while other things stay the same. I found out yesterday that, once again, the doctors found no trace of leukemia in my marrow. That's exciting; it hasn't recurred or anything. So, I've realized a major difference between being here and being at my house, beyond the expected changes. When I'm at home, especially on days when I feel normal, I feel like a bum, like I should be doing something with myself. Cancer is nowhere near the forefront of my mind. Yet when I'm in the hospital, I can't help but remember that I'm being treated for leukemia. There is no way to not think about it. The hospital rooms scream "sick" with their white walls and dingy chairs. There's a scale across from my bed, along with an orange piece of paper that has printed on it, "I AM NOT A PIN CUSHION SO PLEASE STOP STICKING NEEDLES INTO ME" I think it's supposed to provide a little comic relief for people who otherwise may have little to laugh at. I find it just weird. It's not funny, and their line breaks are freaking out my poetic inclinations. And there's the "Help Prevent Falls Tips for patient's and families" poster. Punctuation is as I see it. Oh, and over there is the "Faces Pain Rating Scale" green poster. That one is my favorite. Six faces, rated zero to five, from super happy to extremely upset for those of us who are in too much pain or happiness to say so and can only point to a MS Paint-ed face. Ah, good times in the hospital. Tomorrow, I receive a massive onslaught of chemo; should be a fun time. Always is. But enough about me. I'll update more tomorrow about the chemo and the procedures and, of course, more on my hospital adventures. Goodnight moon. Which, actually, I can't see from here anyway, but I know he's there. Peace.