There’s story material in just about everything, I guess. For me, the arm’s provided a novel’s worth. Woke in the middle of the night knowing exactly how Grendel must’ve felt when he met up with Beowulf. Like someone was tearing it from its socket. Worse, it stayed that way all day. Is still that way.
On the positive side, got some decent revision work in, and later, managed to catch up with mom. She sounded strong, less down than I might’ve expected. Said they’re looking at releasing her after the weekend. There’s been some discussion of a valve procedure, but haven’t heard anything official.
Got to FaceTime later with Jackie this afternoon. So maybe the day went better than I remember. He was waxing philosophic about his part in developing a Covid vaccine. Said, “I’m not a researcher, I’m a builder.” (In this case, I believe he meant builder of consensus. But hey, I don’t want to put words in anyone’s mouth.)
Mowed my lawns. One looks fine, the other not. The way it goes, right?
Took an early evening walk around the hood. Not much culinary ambition tonight. Pot pies. A glass of whiskey. Hemlock? Whatever works.