In upgrading my blog from Wordpress 2.2.1 to 2.3.2 (I may have been a bit behind), I remembered why the process is such a pain in the ass. It’s not that the upgrade itself is difficult — it’s just that more often than not, something will go wrong while I’m trying to get the files from my computer to the server. For example, my FTP client will often freeze and die in between (and I’ve tried multiple ones with the same results). Today, however, my whole domain’s FTP connection went down in between, so the whole upgrade stretched out over two hours when the actual work lasted perhaps five to ten minutes. Nonetheless, I was successful in the end…or so I hope, but feel free to report any possible errors/general wonkyness you might run across!

As for things that I’d been working on over winter break, the poetry section got a facelift and a proper name of its own: Poetica. Sadly, it does not have any new pieces added yet. I finally got the portfolio up as well, although it already has a layout of its own I will be working on to turn it into a full-fledged subsection of the site. I also drew up a new look for the blog, only to scrap it in favor of trying to push myself more design-wise. So in other words, all this time at home has at least been inspiring some site productivity and design!

When I take it easy, my body’s happy but I get restless. When I try to push myself just a bit, I’m happier as a person but my body definitely gets angry.

Yesterday was the first day of the spring semester. I’d been trying to slowly extend the number of hours I’ve been out and about per day (even returning to work for a few hours last week) so that school wouldn’t be overwhelming, but it was too much anyway. It’s frustrating because regression quickly beats out progression, and while I may (mostly) have patience for others, I seem to be running short of it for myself.

The neurologist’s secretary refused to ask the doctor about writing me a note for my professors. “I don’t think we ought to do that sort of thing,” she sniffed, as if I was asking her to type up a note condoning my consumption of alcohol during class rather than “She has a condition which may cause her to miss classes on occasion.”

I guess trying to expect myself to be normal again before even being diagnosed is unrealistic, but I felt the need to experiment with “mind over matter” anyway, as I absolutely refuse to let this condition define me. I don’t want to be The Sick Girl, I want to be the girl who does this, this, and this, but happens to be sick. I would like to be more than I am right now.

Wish me luck that the new general physician I’m seeing tomorrow (since my previous new GP retired his practice unexpectedly) will actually look into my condition rather than brushing it off like just about every other doctor? I feel like I’m playing the doctor lottery now with the number of medical professionals I’ve seen in the last nearly four months.

A friend asked me awhile ago if I would rather be famous or rich. I responded that I’d rather just be well-liked. “But in order to be well-liked, don’t you have to be well-known?” he asked.

“Well, not necessarily. You can be well-liked by the few that know you,” I pointed out.

I started writing about being sick because I was scared. With so many emergency room visits, each one escalating in severity, I panicked. What if I didn’t make it through the next episode? Nobody had answers for me (and they still don’t). I wanted to leave something behind; I wanted people to know what had happened to me if they got curious. I needed to tell my story.

But now, the fear has settled and blogging so much about the situation feels almost embarrassing. When you wear your pain on your sleeve, does that cheapen the emotions? It may be a big part of my life, but I don’t want to let it overtake me.

Since I’ve been a bit more stable again lately and in the midst of winter break, I’ve had even more time to reflect and think. I’ve been trying to reexamine who I am and what I want, hence the recollection of an old conversation. Before all the chaos, I thought I had gotten to the point where I finally had everything laid out, but the thing about illness is that it strips you down to your very core, and I started floundering because I couldn’t remember anymore what my center consisted of.

These days, I often feel old, but I have to remember that I’m still just 21. I don’t want to watch life pass me by as the doctors half-heartedly work on a diagnosis. I may not be able to do as much as I used to, but I think it’s time to see just how much I’m capable of.

Hello 2008.