"Please don't be cynical. I hate cynicism -- it's my least favorite quality and it doesn't lead anywhere. Nobody in life gets exactly what they thought they were going to get, but if you work really hard and you're kind, amazing things will happen. I'm telling you, amazing things will happen." -- CoCo is not a revolutionary, but he made a point that I needed to hear.
I never watched the Tonight Show, I never appreciated the humor of Jay Leno or David Letterman, and only on the rarest of occasions did I watch Conan O'Brien. But I watched his last show this morning because, well, I'm moody. Hulu wins over other Saturday morning activities when I'm moody.
Fairly fitting then, I suppose, to be slapped in the face by a guy who I didn't respect until said slap. I'm actually a little embarrassed to admit that he made me feel significantly better. The way I feel when I'm not mopey. Don't be cynical. I didn't used to be cynical. Skeptical, yes. Cynical, certainly not. Not during these last few years. However, it is the end of January and the rest of my life depends on what happens -- or, is supposed to happen -- over the next two weeks. And I am mortified.
I'm not anticipating utter rejection so much as acceptance. The fear of being welcomed into my dream education and not being able to take advantage of it because I'm doomed to linger in this purgatorial state of pseudo-illness is my ultimate cynicism. It's not unrealistic, I don't think. It is, however, the force against which I started keeping this blog in the first place. It can be done... maybe.
If my GI continues to revert me to steroids while ignoring the other drugs that my liver clearly feels I should be off of by now, I just don't see enough progress being made to sustain me through that venture.
The second taper didn't work. Round One: 10 and 5mg/d weanings = failed; Round Two: back up to 10mg/d, then 5 and 1mg/d weanings = failed; Round Three: back up to 10mg/d again, then 1 and 1/2mg/d weanings. My third steroid treatment in six months? Are you serious? Very.
Maybe if I hadn't worked 50 hours last week. Maybe if I had taken naps when I got home instead of hoping that staying awake would tire me out by 9pm. Maybe if I got some more exercise instead of moping around the house in the evenings.
But the adrenaline I get from my work is the only energy I've got. Naps have never had any reviving effect for me, and I have been trying to walk the few blocks to the bus when I'm awake enough to catch it, and doing a lot of stair climbing at work. So at least I'm being moderately proactive. Right? Lighten up -- don't be so cynical.