When I first began the blog in late January (and before the current 3,007 pageviews, he said proudly), it had a clear focus.  When I had finally received the correct diagnosis of my cancer in April 2011, the prognosis was 10-11 months--and the cancer had already metastasized to the bones and other organs six months earlier.  The blog seemed a good way to talk about cancer and the imminence of death from an atheist's perspective.  But after several months of being able to say cancer, shmancer, abi gesund, I've realized that the blog has become much more diffuse--a lot of entries are what has Howard read this week or what has he been thinking.  Partly, of course, it's just that--thankfully--things have been pretty stable for a long time, and it's boring (and slightly embarrassing) just to catalogue the number of my bathroom visits or how many naps I take a day.  It's fun to have the forum, and it does help keep my mind active, though it's also somewhat self-indulgent.  A reader commented that I hardly ever bring up atheism, so maybe next time I should say a few unkind words about gods and religion.

Just to stick with health matters today: for a week or so after the break from chemo, I felt quite a bit better.  My stomach was more settled, and my appetite came back.  I still needed to crash a couple of times a day, but that's been just a given for the last year.  The last few days, however, seem to be a reversion to the pre-break conditions.  Food doesn't look appealing, and I can't seem to find a good balance between Imodium and what happens when I don't take enough.  If I take too many, I spend the evening groaning from cramps--at least I think there's a cause-and-effect relationship there, though I'm not even sure about that.  (If I ever made any PMS jokes in the past, I promise never to do so again.) 

Last night, we drove to Lawrence to have drinks with our friend, Sarah--young, cute, smart--one of my hires as chair and a friend to both of us.  It was half an hour over, two hours over a Manhattan (my drink of choice, though I hardly drink at all these days) with lively conversation, and thirty minutes back.  It was a fun and invigorating evening until the ride back.  By the time I got home, I was barely functioning.  In my head, I made a list of what I had to do: change clothes, fold a little laundry that had been drying, take two pills, fill the dog's water bowl--10 or 15 minutes of "work."  And it all seemed so daunting that I just stretched out on the bed to gather my energy for those tasks.  I finally summoned my strength and got up-to-speed (which is still in first gear), and then came an hour or so of Mohamed's asking me what I wanted for dinner, which was the last thing I wanted to think about.  I ate a muffin, but even with just that in my stomach I was up a couple of times in the night. 

See why I don't write about the quotidian much?  We'll see how today goes...and the next...and the next.  And then maybe it's time to again give some serious thought to a reduction in meds--back to the old question of quality v. quantity of life.