I am happy to say my cup runneth over. These days I feel très bien, which is in stark contrast to the past year when I thought my general malaise — feeling low and kind of punk — had to do with being fifty (for the sake of the blog I am a perpetual fifty, just for those who are keeping track). I am happy to report that fifty is not an illness, but having a toxic gallbladder is. The loathsome thing was removed in September and after a couple days in these very sanitary surroundings:
I am home, feeling great, and am hellbent on — in this order — holiday prep, finishing my second novel, and figuring out how to promote my first:
There are those among you who might suggest that my boutique publishers going out of business had something to do with the malaise, and I don’t discount that at all, but I can’t blame them for organ failure…or can I?