When I was still in, I lay playing with the controls of my foldy bed, thinking long and hard about what would happen if I just died, right now. What if I never get the chance to do all of the things I wanted to do? What if that was it?

*insert Peggy Lee singing – Is that all there is*

I’m not complaining. OK, maybe I am, but only a little. I’m happy to be home. I’m thankful I’m on the road to recovery. It could have been so much worse. I appreciate life in a whole new way and all that great stuff too! It’s just that I’m a bit surprised and maybe a tiny little bit disappointed that I’m not more…excited, rejuvenated or inspired or something.

I was sure I would come home and write a 6 foot long bucket list but so far “never leave the house with dirty laundry in the hamper” is the only task that has made it on there.

I was sure I would come home and take life by the balls but I’m still too tired to take the salad bowl off the fridge and put it up in the cupboard.

I was sure I would come home full of love and tenderness for absolutely everyone on earth but instead I feel intolerant and bitchy and occasionally overcome by the urge to stab somebody in the eye with a plastic fork.

I blame these steroids they have me on. They keep me in this walking coma and are starting to make me seriously doubt my sanity.

Some of the possible side effects include mood swings,anxiety, irritability, frequent urination, blurred vision, increased appetite and insomnia.

So, basically picture me half blind, sleep deprived (averaging 3 hours of sleep at night), paranoid, anxious, short-fused and starving, with the constant feeling of urgency nagging at my bladder.

I’m SO fun to hang out with!!

So Zen.

So full of love and tenderness.