I haven't written anything in about a month, which is pretty unusual for me. I could cite a litany of reasons for my odd silence - a personal crisis, a tiger in the bathroom, UFO abduction. But mostly I've just been busier than a one-legged man in an ass-kicking contest. At work two major programs are coming to fruition at the same time, and though I'm formally assigned to only one of them, as a practical matter I end up working on both of them. I don't mind. They're interesting projects. But as both programs reach final culmination, there's a lot of work to get done in a great screaming hurry - a couple of days ago I worked a 24-hour shift, went home and slept for about four hours, and went back for more. I'm not bragging, but I
am pointing out that that's a lot of work and I don't always feel like writing anything when I finally get home.
All work and no play makes me a dull - and quiet - boy.
But somewhere along the line I managed to get in a trip to the oncologist, and I'm still clean. I'll have another PET scan in about six weeks, and it'll be decades before I start to take them for granted, but for now, I derive a certain perverse pleasure from being healthy enough and feeling good enough to actually do 24-hour shifts.
At one point one of my co-workers, in the very wee hours of the morning, groused about how bad it sucked. All I could say was "I've been through way worse things than this."
