Current mood:	apathetic
Current music:	rowdy crowds

this doesn't matter to you.
This isn't going to be a particularly optimistic entry. I have tons of projects due in the upcoming week in addition to an oral midterm tomorrow morning.

My body is being consumed in hives. Yesterday morning they adorned only my arms; now, they are spreading all over my body. My feet are covered in itchy hives. I've picked up dry cough. Wet coughs are wonderful in comparison because it doesn't feel like someone is poking you in the throat when you go through gagging fits. Dry coughs are extremely painful, even if you're merely clearing your throat.

The cherry on my sundae of bad happenings is my Mother's unveiling on Sunday. It is SUPPOSED to occur a year after her death, on July 23. For some reason, though, my father insisted we have it on May 3rd, to "bring closure sooner than later". In my mind, it's very creepy knowing that a year ago, she was still alive and if only we had known that in a year from now I'd be staring into her grave, knowing that I am standing on what used to be the physical shell of my mother. Sometimes I think about what that physical shell looks like now, almost a year into the ground - surely nothing like what I remember her as. I don't know why I think those things, perhaps to think of the worst scenario before looking toward better things.

The crazy part is that whatever image is coming to my mind is probably the reality. It's not as if I am thinking about her body and I can call her and feel better knowing that she is far from being in that place. Before the images get to grotesque, I usually put a blockage on going any further and think of milder things.

I took a few cough suppressants, and although the cough is not as horrible, I am walking around in a narcotic-induced haze that I very much wish would cease to be. I would rather be focused now, doing my work, there is so much to get done.

This summer is going to be so hard. I'm already prepping myself for her anniversary, although all the preparation in the world will mean nothing when the morning of the 23rd comes back to me and maybe then it will hit me that she really is dead. I still cry, more than in the first few months of her death. I tend to cry in public places, although its not purposely. Thoughts hit me when I'm walking in the street, on the subway, waiting for class to begin. I've gotten used to the stares that are given to a person in tears.

Let's hope there will be better days ahead. At the most, next week will be more promising.

This is really hard.