It's chilly and dark and very, very quiet so I think I'll just write about me for a bit.

A few months back, I wrote about how the source of my chronic health concerns had been identified and that I was on the mend. In the (unseasonably) cold light of morning, I am forced to conclude that I was being a bit too optimistic. I'm not dying, at least, I'm not dying any more than the average person is on a daily basis. I am, however, growing discouraged. I'm not a winter person to begin with, and when you combine the longer nights with the constant discomfort and aesthetically unfortunate nature of my condition...I'm not going to lie. It gets me down sometimes.

That said, I'll be seeing a very good doctor in a couple of days and I am confident that we'll be able to treat the symptoms aggressively even if we don't move any closer to a resolution. I have family visiting soon. I can't believe it's been five years since I've spent any amount of time with them, although it may be that I'll remember why I haven't seen them once we're in close quarters.

I love this time of night. I love the quiet of it. I love that I can think and even concentrate without the constant interruptions and noise and people and noise and phones and noise get the idea. I've had to work in shared workspace environments in the past. I can say with authority that "shared workspace" offices aren't the way to go if you want to produce anything but stress.

This time of night is nice. I ought to do this more often.