sitting there, lying there, wondering when it all will be over. tired and exhausted from doing absolutely nothing at all. i can't really see the clock from where i am so i stare at the wall. at the fluorescent lights above. at the holes in the ceiling tiles. at the blanket that i'm under. i didn't exactly expect it to be like this. and i'm wondering what it is i did to bring it on. to cause it. could it have been prevented? was it inherited? it stands in the way of me living the life that i dream about. that i spent years planning out. and it's not so much that i feel sorry for myself, it's more that i'm annoyed. i'm the youngest one here by years, many years. this is something that you grow to expect as you reach the end of your life, not when you see thirty. just when i start to get to where i always wanted to be, i get the news. then the surgery, then the greatest summer in a long time, then the reflection in the mirror and the shock of what it all did. so then i start over, and i work at it again. and i'm getting there, i can see and feel that i'm getting there. but once i get to where i want to be, how long will it last this time? what's going to come along next time? i can't afford these treatments for the rest of my life, no matter how much the insurance covers. my dream house from when i was a little kid is up for sale, i want that house. i can't afford that house. i want to go to london with lisa next spring. i want to quit my job and go back to school, but i can't not have insurance. i finally have a five year plan and i have no idea how to go about making any of it happen.