One year further down the road

It wasn't arthritis.

Nor was it rheumy, or fibromyalgia.

It's "joint pain".

YEAH, LIKE I COULDN'T TELL THAT MYSELF.

Well. The doctor was a good doctor, and it's nice to hear it's not any bad disease. But I'd still like to know what it is.

I'm goint to try and get my hands x-rayed, too. I need to know why they hurt, and they do, almost without pause these days. I know I can take a pill to make the pain shut up for a while but, hey, I'd really prefer to know why I am taking it and if there was some other medicine that could prevent the pain from appearing instead.



It's been a year now. One year since I sat on a plane bound for Arlanda-Heathrow-Narita.
You have no idea how it feels.

I've been getting flashbacks and memories and images and daydreams, and sometimes I cannot tell what is real, whether I am here or there. Back there. There's that aching, urging feeling inside me telling me THAT is where I ought to be, not here. The very smell in the air can sometimes bring me back, saffron slaps me in the face and tells me I'm in the library, the branches outside the window blur and become the sakura along the road before they start blooming, a picture of green trees take me to the hot summer days and I never know when I will be where.
I feel empty, I feel like I want to cry, I feel filled with emotions and strength and yearning. I feel like taking a plane right now and never look back, yet I know I would do it again but never do it again.
It's pretty hard being me right now.
Yeah. One year. Time is not slowing down.
And then, I lay down on the bed and pretend everything is all right and that I am just where I want to be - wherever that is. No thinking, no memories.