My clinic visit was uneventful yesterday. My blood counts are good, although still slow on the reds. But I'm producing them, which is what counts. My doctor said there was no need to see me for a month. Whoopee!
Now I seriously have to find things to do with all my time. I went on a covert mission to a virtually empty Target the other day (masked and gloved) to buy some new drinking glasses. I don't plan to casually pop into stores as the flu and holiday shopping season cooks up.
Marty and I have started jog-walking, which is how I plan to get my strength back. Now that my brain functions well enough to follow more than short snippets of reading material, I relish the thought of curling up with a hot drink and a book as often as possible. I also hope to knit scarves for family members, which will require another masked outing, maybe tomorrow. Domestic bliss or what?
But the activity I should be working on is writing a book. I have plenty of material already written. Now I just have to find the discipline to pull something together that others may want to read. Is it possible to piece together the variety of writing I've done and have it cohere? Much is in essay format, but I have short stories, poems, letters, and blog posts I'd like to somehow weave together. I don't want to write a memoir per se, but I do want to include our Costa Rican sojourn and the leukemia war. The Complete Works of PJ?
A project like that would keep me busy enough while I'm laying low. In the meantime, I have to hope my internal battle against evil leukemic clones is proceeding according to plan. Being engaged in a project will take my mind off those nasty cells and keep me from getting cranky.