Here it is almost 5:00 p.m., and I'm wicked tired. After a day of more physical work than I'm used to, on the heels of an emotional weekend and day of nervous inactivity in the day-surgery waiting room, topped off by intense longing to be with mourning family members halfway across the country, I barely have energy left for making dinner, let alone for writing. Yet here I sit at the computer keyboard - not doing much, but doing something. Because I choose to. Because I'm making it happen.
And anyhow, I like leftovers.
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