New Year Note:
Illness
3 January 2019

I have been very unwell, with an infected foot, and I am not entirely out the woods yet. But for the first time since before Christmas, I feel comfortable enough to post an entry. I wish all Daily Blague readers a very Happy New Year. 

How long it will take to get back to normal, I can’t say. This morning, I was just able to do a load of laundry. After more than ten days in bed, I was exhausted throughout the whole process. But I rallied. This afternoon, Ray Soleil helped me clear out the refrigerator. (As always, he did all the work.) I hope I didn’t overdo it, but it’s nice to see that the apartment is a little less dingy.

I’ve done a good deal of reading, as you may imagine, but almost everything has depressed me. One book, William Tryon’s novel, Elizabeth Alone, was almost unbearable. The fraught plot — four women in a women’s hospital, reflecting on their lives while recuperating from operations — was tough enough, but the side-stories about the men in their lives, each one as searing and intense as the best of Tryon’s short stories, made for an extremely concentrated atmosphere of trouble. In the bag that I kept packed in case I had to go to the Emergency Room (dread thought), I stowed a copy of Colm Tóibín’s Nora Webster, one of my favorite novels, and one that combines tranquility with great interest. If I don’t simply fall asleep, I’ll start re-reading it this evening. 

That’s enough for now.

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