For those of you astute enough to notice - yup, I back-dated this one. I really did begin this on the 21st, but the fourth big snowstorm of this month kept me distracted enough that I spent too much time mesmerized by watching snow accumulate (a far more active process than one might imagine, as there were times when you literally could see the accumulation happening, not unlike watching the minute hand of a clock).

I'm not entirely sure what the day even means to me any more. It is important. I did survive. But I survived liver failure/transplant and a heart attack since then. I've survived multiple transplant rejections (one large, many small) since then. I've gotten a hip replacement, broken a thumb and ankle (NOT at the same time) and been diagnosed with CTCL, diabetes and IBS since then. [Ironically, it's the IBS that has affected my life the most.]

There are days I feel old before my time. Then I am forced to acknowledge that maybe it isn't exactly before my time. After all, my sixtieth birthday is in the rearview mirror, though I don't exactly require binoculars to see it at this point.

It isn't healthy, sitting around the house all day watching reruns of NCIS and Big Bang Theory,