Hello all you patient readers, who have heard nothing from me in weeks. I'm still here, and still doing well physically. Emotionally happens to be another story.
I took the opportunity of peace, quiet, nature hikes, horses and dogs—i.e. Heaven on Earth, Jerome Creek Idaho—to dig into my closet of emotional traumas, where I've been stuffing things for the last, oh, at least 20 years or so. Turns out it was a big mess in there, and now everything's out, scattered haphazardly on the floor, emitting various stenches and high-pitched, ceaseless whines. I'm wading through it, and clearing the air, and making promises to donate to the Good Will in future, rather than keep around a passel of old distresses that I've outgrown.
Adding to the poignancy of old troubles are, of course, my feelings about the impending oophorectomy (this Monday, no time yet), and my concerns (currently assuaged by the wonders of prednisone) for Spackle.
If you happen to see me and I look—or act—a mess, rest assured that the cleaning/tidying/reorganizing catharsis will eventually end, and I have no doubt I'll be the better for it.