Monday, 1/3 -- It's not the steroids talking, but it could be the Advil.

The past three weeks have been a flurry of holiday activity, and I've been trying my best to keep up. I don't think it's any coincidence that I've had two stays in the hospital recently. I've been pushing myself physically too hard. It's like I need to prove to myself again and again that I'm not as strong as I used to be. Duh.

The first hospital visit was due to me lifting something too heavy, hurting my weakened back. Although I'm not nearly in the same kind of discomfort, it still does bother me. I gladly take my morning steroid to help manage the inflammation. Advil is still a good friend.

My second stay in the hospital was after my fainting spell in the doctor's office. That was one week ago. There are no lingering repercussions from that less-than-fun trip. But I must admit that I am more apprehensive about tomorrow's doctor's appointment than normal. I pray that I don't do a repeat performance, especially since I'll be self-conscious about it and I'll have all eyes on me. No pressure there.

Dance, Monkey Boy, Dance!

I do attribute it all, in a general way, to me pushing myself harder to be normal. That's ok, I just have to be smarter about it. I have to start to use some of this "wisdom" I've been collecting lately.

I've been fighting this disease intently for over six months now. I've made incredible progress. I've even impressed myself. I feel more in control of my fate than at any other time in my life. I'm not delusional about controlling my fate, but I now know that I'm not merely a plastic bag swirling in the wind.

My spirit has power that I never saw before. To be 33 years old and to discover this fact is a beautiful gift. Just imagine what I can do with my next 33 years. It boggles my feeble mind.

I can feel my strength, and my will, and my desire, and my passion for life. I can feel it course through my veins like blood. I know what it means to see my own mortality, and it has shown me what it means to be alive.

I've seen my own insignificance in the world, and I've found my place in it too. It's ok to be One person in Six Billion. Even if I'm a one in a million kind of guy, that means there are 6,000 people in the world exactly like me. I find that comforting.

So as I sit here too fatigued to leave the house, I'm swelling with a strange kind of strength. It's a warmth that grows not in my heart, but it vibrates through my entire body.

My physical strength eludes me, and I've worked so hard to regain it. What I've done in its place is built my other strengths to the point where I feel as though I could scoop myself up and carry me as far as I need to.

I'll put myself in my own pocket for safe keeping. It's warm and safe, and its a great place to be.