No wonder the recovery's so slow this time. At least slow is the worst that can be said of it.
I keep telling myself I'll be able to get back to the sanity-enhancing discipline of doing at least one writing-related thing every day, just as soon as my surgeon and I agree that I'm basically healed up. Any week now, there might be grounds for us to reach that conclusion.
(The older daily discipline of Actually Writing Something Every Day will probably have to wait until the baby's old enough to sleep more than two or three hours at a time. So, January or thenabouts.)
If I counted all the reading I do while I'm up feeding the baby in the middle of the night, I'd already be doing a writing-related thing every day, but as nice as the reading is, it increases depth without producing progress.
I like progress, or at least the illusion of progress.
I'd make a terrible Buddhist.