Jun. 29th, 2017

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I took the plunge and created the "GallopingBookworm" shop on Etsy this morning. The first book to go up for sale was the 50th Anniversary paperback edition of Farenheit 451.

It seemed as if it took me forever to go through the process of creating the listing, though it was probably more like 30 minutes, as I negotiated the various options. Presumably, as I create additional listings, I ought to be able to speed up the process.

* * *

In other news, the Parker Duofold I bought in early May (and which just came back from having its filling mechanism repaired) has a wonderful, flexible nib, but after inking the pen, I found it has a tendency to pump ink like a fire engine, i.e., the line it makes with very little pressure is quite thick and quite wet, and will easily bleed through a sheet of Rhodia dotPad paper (which normally doesn't allow such behavior). In examining the nib under a 10x loupe, it appeared to me that the two sides of the nib do not quite meet, as I can see a narrow crack of brightness between them when I hold it up to a light.

Further repair will likely not be cheap or fast, but I've taken the first step in the process, so we'll see what develops. It would be a shame not to bring this pen up to 100% functionality.

* * *

A recent telecast brought something called "post-cancer anxiety" to my attention. This is apparently an affliction suffered by some folks who, to all appearances, have beaten the disease, but "beaten" in this context hasn't quite the same finality as in the sentence "The Yankees have beaten the White Sox in the World Series." Cancers have a tendency to reappear after a while, hence the anxiety that some people suffer.

Moi? I'd be happy to face the prospect of suffering from post-cancer anxiety if I could only get to the "post-cancer" part. (I'd also be happy to risk winning the lottery, despite all of the grim news about so many lottery winners turning their lives into financial disaster areas, but I digress...)

Since last November, when my cancer got out of hand, I've been having a devil of a time keeping my spirits up as a patient with what I can only describe as active cancer, largely because my oncologist is a stand-up guy and insists on being straightforward with me (almost certainly with the endorsement of the institution's legal department). Now, I have no fundamental problem with his being straightforward, but hearing "you're going to die when we run out of treatment options" and variations on that theme every few weeks—even if not explicitly stated in that way—sort of ruined whatever high spit shine I was trying to create in my day-to-day attitude toward the world.

The good news is that for now, the most recent cocktail of chemo is driving my cancer into inactivity at a geometric rate (though with an exponent of less than unity). I am tolerating the chemo very well (knock wood) and the manner of my oncologist's nurse-practitioner (who runs the follow-up visits these days) is not depressing in the least, to my great delight.

And so, onward. Excelsior!



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