It seemed like bad juju to leave my last post, with its vitriol and swearwords, hanging there. I still feel that way, I feel all that anger toward cancer and death. I tried to drown last night's sorrows in beer. I did a pretty good job, because I woke with a pounding headache this morning before six, took Advil, then went back to sleep until nine. Thank you, Han, for waiting quietly in your crib. What a great kid he is, both of them are. I must remember to love them the way they are and praise them without stopping. (Making note of that now, resolution number seven.)
Now just after three, it is quiet in the house. Han is sleeping and Ewan and Iona are on their way back from snow sports. I need to re-draft a scene in my book before the house is noisy again. I start a class on refining and rewriting a novel on January 23, and I have a deadline for submitting my beloved piece of scrap. I have a deus ex machina on page forty-eight. What an amazing problem to have on a day when there is much sadness and horror in Tucson, Acapulco and right here in Seattle, at Swedish Hospital.