In which I feel sorry for myself...

One of the biggest problems that I have is boredom. It's overwhelming at times. Over the last few years I've lost the ability to schedule anything and with that has gone most of the activities that I used to enjoy. I haven't been able to work in...god, it's been years now. I just managed to graduate from college; I'm thankful that I'm able to manage A's despite my frequent absences. Lately I've had a little relief, BF and I built a deck in our backyard. Well, he built most of it, but I was surprised by how much I was able to help and how I didn't feel like crap when we were done. And from time to time I manage to find a craft to fill my time, like knitting or making the little guy a Halloween costume. This week it's been cutting out paper snowflakes. I love it, it's very satisfying even though it makes my hands all creaky and sore. It's hard to keep busy though; I watch a lot of TV and read a lot of books and do a lot of sitting around wishing I felt better and worrying about the future. I heard today that most people with pulmonary fibrosis die within four to ten years of being diagnosed. What a shitty statistic. I wish I hadn't heard it, but now that I have I can't seem to get it out of my head. So I guess I'll go fold some more paper and try to get engrossed in that for a while.