I'm crossing my fingers that this Meropenem nebulizer does the trick.
It would be such a thrilling prospect to be able to deliver the medicine straight to the source of the problem, instead of pumping its IV form into my blood stream in hope that it gets to the lungs in a timely manner.

Crossing fingers.

Only problem, it sort of tastes the way Florida well water smells.

Today, a thick fog fell over the city, enveloping Boston with rain clouds, and I was as cozy as a pea in a pod. Alas, I took a nap.

I'm not sure what is going on.

I was laying in bed last night after the shower of all showers [[there is nothing better than washing away the hospital wear and tear]] attempting the futile quest for a comfortable position on a plastic, Mass General issued mattress, when I found myself bursting into tears. The tears were seriously flowing, and not stopping. I cried over being exhausted and finding it so hard to snooze. And for that time when I was five and I packed up a doll stroller with hair curlers, my favorite pair of shoes (girl's gotta be prepared), a popsicle, and a bag o' grapes, and I walked out my front door and onto the neighbors lawn in full rebellion mode, when I realized my plan to run away from home had hit a bump; I wasn't allowed to cross the street. For the loss of my childhood naivete. Over the unfortunate but true fact that I've yet to fully accept; Alexei Rodriguez really has parted ways with 3 Inches of Blood. At least I have the memories, of him and their 2004 glory, sharing a tiny stage with Exodus. [[Oh Palladium, you did my ears proud.]] For the loss of my dear Cheyenne to the swampy bogs of Florida; may the alligators and mosquitoes spare you and go for your drunken neighbor instead.. For Kelly girl, the sweetest dog I've known, the only creature I've met who ate ten pounds of raw flour without a hitch. And a cable box. And a table. Oh, and drywall. I cried for my slightly battered lungs, and their overwhelming impact on my life. The prospect and reality of a transplant hit me full force and I wanted nothing more than to be miles away from my impersonal hospital room with it's beeping IV pumps and sterile glove boxes lining the walls. I cried for a cure.

At some point I must have realized that the bubonic plague outbreak of the 18th century was not, actually, my fault, and the comfort in realizing how ridiculous I was acting calmed me into sleep. I woke up this morning to find my nurse standing at my IV pump, wiping tears from her eyes, only to apologize and say that she didn't know why she couldn't compose herself, it was just one of those days.

I understood.

THEN!

The physical therapist, a dear woman who I'd gauge to be in her 30's, perhaps, and who I just assumed was married with kids, announced her crush on a twenty-two year old guy in a band and that she was proud of her initiative to befriend him on Facebook.

This place? It's making us crazy.

Two drifters, off to see the world,
There's such a lot of world to see.
We're after the same rainbow's end, waitin' 'round the bend,
My huckleberry friend, Moon River, and me.
--Frank Sinatra

Color my life with the chaos of trouble.
--Belle&Sebastian

"Ma'am, trying to have a conversation with you would be like trying to argue with a dining room table"

I saw 500 Days of Summer the other night. Afterwards, I found myself in a heap of tears.

Not because the film was awful, or because I spilled my popcorn, but because the parallels between the film and real life broke my heart. It was honest, and subtle, and that's a rarity these days.

And so, when it was over, I walked out of the theater, threw away my bag of popcorn, and realized that sooner or later, I would actually have to face my life. And that, I think, brought tears.

I've been on a cleaning frenzy that is nearing its close. I've discarded boxes upon boxes of unnecessary trinkets and straight up junk. I'm cleaning out my belongings in place of clearing out my mind; it's far easier to organize a defined space than to rifle through and sort out months of stashed memories. That said, it feels damn good to be letting everything go. I'm convinced of the theory that letting go only makes room for something far worthwhile. SO: old pants, goodbye, linen pants at Anthropologie that didn't quite make the budget cut - my closet is yours. Welcome.

today is a beautiful day.
it's lovely being a l i v e.

One part caffeine + two parts anxiety = insomnia.









...............meow?

What an amazing planet.

I, personally, am smitten with this idea.
Leave me love notes, world, and I'll reply.

partners in crime;;

"What we call art is not only that which culminates in great works but rather a space where society carries out its visual production."
- Néstor García Canclini

Woke up to live my life, just like every day,
Jumping out of bed cause there are good things on the way,
A positive feeling in my heart, I knew I couldn't fail,
And the records I had ordered finally came in the mail.
So angry kids, go away,
No negativity today,
Every little thing seemed to go my way,
I gotta say it was a positive day!
-Good Clean Fun

Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold,
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned.
-- William Butler Yeats