I'm fine.

I have been recovering.

I have just been a big grouch.

I haven't even wanted to hang out with myself.

I decided that since I didn't have anything nice to say. . . . . .

I wouldn't say anything at all.

Last night I forced myself to think of all the things that make me happy (still). Here's a couple: football & soccer season, fan emails and inspirational comments, my family and friends, especially the ones who still love me no matter what kind of mood I'm in, my M&Ms (that'd be morphine and marinol), and shopping.

I was getting concerned about my state of mind since, even though I've gained a few pounds and have outgrown my pants, I was refusing to shop.

It just didn't have any appeal.

I finally did get some clothes that fit and I DO feel better.

There is nothing worse than having pneumonia making breathing difficult, diffuse cancer pain, and then getting a reminder every time you try to get dressed that you've put on some pudge so none of your clothes fit.

Not that I'm dissin' the pudge, I'm proud and I'm keeping it.

It was time I gained some lovely lady lumps.

Shopping, however, was not so great for my self esteem either since my legs are such little stubs that anything marked "capri" or "cropped" in the normal section I consider my jeans.

I have three pairs of jeans that are actually labeled capri, ankle, cropped, whatever.

What can I say, my body is just a little off.

I did buy more leggings, which I absolutely love and plan on making part of my sick girl uniform. They're warm, like thermal underwear, and I can throw on a dress (aka nightgown) over it.

How could I not love that. Leggings will also grow and shrink with me appropriately.

No worries, I promise not to abuse the legging privilege by wearing them inappropriately.

We all know what I'm talking about.

I'll rock them like a SoHo New Yorker. Really, you can take the girl out of the city but you can't take the city out of the girl