The novel is now finished--as finished as I can finish it--and I can spend more time here. Or somewhere.
Maybe too much time--be forewarned--since I've also decided to leave the hospital clerical job I've been doing since... far too long. I stared hard at the numbers, my necessary expenses and frivolities, decided that I can walk instead of take the subway, cannot cut back on books and visits to Nota Bene, the wonderful Italian papeterie where I buy notebooks, will stop getting my hair cut, will keep using my ancient laptop--and can still afford food, electricity and taxes. Well, I might not be able to afford the latter, but I'll have to pay them.
I have my new rebuilt heart and am even (sort of) growing accustomed to its clackety rhythm. My chest sounds like a longcase clock on a mild dose of amphetamines.
I want to go cycling when the weather gets warmer, learn Spanish, weave on an eight-harness loom, visit friends, translate more Grimms', get back into slow cooking, write another book.
I feel like I'm beginning a new life, which is unexpected and fun, given that I'm surely more than halfway through my life.