Firing on two cylinders

My brain is only just starting to get back to something approaching normal functionality. It's been a rough week. A party, a fire fifty feet from my home, and a simple lack-of-tiredness kept me from getting my ever-so-needed beauty sleep last week. Thirty years ago, four hours of sleep before a full day of work was no big deal. These days, it has a severe impact on my ability to do anything but drool on myself and compulsively check the football transfer news.

The good news is that the part of my brain which has remained engaged is chugging along nicely. Reading begets writing, and vice-versa. I've managed to get my workspace fully in order now, I've carved out some time for Important Projects About Which I Shall Not Yet Speak.

It's a start.

There remains work to be done. My body's still a bit of a mess. My skin remains resistant to treatment. Currently, it's not getting worse, but it's not completely healed. I need to sort that. Plus, the downside of having steroids pumped into your carcass is that, unless you work out a great deal, you'll put on weight in a hurry. I do not work out a great deal.

Additionally, I have some weekly commitments which are increasingly less worth the time I'm putting in to them. I'm going to have to re-arrange that schedule or, maybe, make the tough decision to pull the plug on something I've invested ten years of my life into. "Sunk cost" is the phrase that comes to mind.