NaNoWriMo: today it's personal
Texting with my daughter, who is funny

Reaching back, hungrily, on a cloudy cold Thursday

I don't mind getting older, and I don't mind weighing a little more than in previous decades. But about a month ago, the asthma I suffer mainly in cold weather took sixteen leaps from mild, intermittent to raging, slaughtering, so that I have been lying in unhappy repose, finally submitting to daily pills and daily puffs and the dull hope of a December in which climbing the stairs does not defeat efforts to do something else once I've arrived at the top of them. Because along with that dull hope is the notion offered by the doctor that perhaps in a few weeks I can take up light stretching and gentle walks and take control over the Ohio-fueled or possibly coincidentally peri-menopausally-fueled expansion of my waistline.

Mostly I just want to go around and do stuff again.




YesterdayYesterday, trying out my sweet new winter hood.