I had a funny thought. 

A friend of mine gets her feelings hurt when ever we joke about her diet.  I've always thought that she was one of the most beautiful creatures I'd ever seen, so I'm always surprised when she says she wants to lose a bit of weight.

I think that exercise and eating healthy is great.  Which is what she's doing.  I'm sure there is more involved, but I don't know what it is.  And that's because I have the opposite problem.  I need to gain weight.  So I can't really understand her point of view the way I think I should be.

And then I had this thought.  She's exercising and eating healthy, trying to speed up her metabolism.  Dieting.  But I think my problem is with the Word "Diet".  When I hear that word, what comes to mind is 200 pound people buying Big Mac's, super-sized fries, and a Diet drink, followed by a comment of "well I'm on a diet" or "I'm watching my weight".  It's hypocritical and it disgusts me. 

But this is not what my friend does.  And the reality is, is that it shows her strength, that she's still dieting when she's had her friends tell her its silly.  Because it's really not, because she's being Healthy about her diet.  Which is awesome.  I applaud her and I intend to give as much support as I can to her.

So I guess the only question I need to ask her is this: When I order a greasy burger and fries, and she gets her salad, does she want me to slip her a fry or two?  Hopefully I remember to ask.



Another friend of mine ended a relationship today.  I don't quite know what to think, and the things I do think bother me a bit.  Not because of anything she did.  But I think that, as for the way they broke up, I think she did the best thing possible with the situation that she was presented with.  And for that, I have cause to admire her as well.


I have two very amazing and strong friends. 


As for me, I can feel myself changing.  Which is weird.  The longer my recovery has been, the more my thoughts change.  I don't think the same way about things.  I feel more aggressive, and I don't quite know how to handle it.  I don't know how my friends will handle it.  But one thing is for certain, and that is that I still don't like admitting weakness. 


I am five months out, since my transplant on the 5 of Feb.  I'm still doing great. 
It's like, now that the crisis is over, I can let myself panic.  It's the only way I can explain what's happening to me.  It's frightening, horrifying, and terrifying to think about.  I almost died three times.  Three!  And honestly, I've still got seven months to get through before I'm declared Out-of-the-Woods.  I hate thinking about it, it makes me feel sick.  But I can't help thinking about it.  Out of all the people I met who were diagnosed when I was, only three (myself included) are still alive.  And one of them just got diagnosed with pneumonia.


On a more happy note, the two friends I mentioned and myself, went to a Medieval festival and it was amazing.  I can't wait for the next event.  We're supposed to get together over the weekend to make garb (clothes) and such.  I can't wait!