Feb. 21st, 2015

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When I rose from my afternoon nap at 3 pm, I took stock of the day and realized I was sleeping my life away. Of the day's total of 15 hours, I had spent 11 of them unconscious, and had precious little to show for the other four (I got up, got driven around some, and ate lunch).

Yesterday marked the one-week anniversary of the start of treatment for my prostate cancer, and one month since going under the knife for the bypass. Of course, the part that's immediately perceptible is the recovery from the bypass, although I'm perplexed as to why my ability to breathe—especially while talking—keeps coming and going with no pattern that I can discern.

But I should probably stop babbling on about my heath, because I don't recall being terribly interested in such recitations from my elders when I was younger and healthier.

In point of fact, between 3 pm and now, I managed to sit down and get a healthy chunk of work done, and I expect to be able to pull of the same stunt tomorrow—hopefully without all the shuteye—along with taking some concrete action to bring my idea for a video course to fruition.

Cheers...

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