You Know I've Been A Liar All My Life: It's in the low 30s here today, so getting some outside activity isn't something I want to consider. Gloomy, frosty, the worst of Oregon during winter. Even the treadmill doesn't appeal right now (it's in the back room which tends to closely match the outside temperature). Did a couple of miles on it Friday but the cold has dampened my enthusiasm to exercise.

With a little encouragement, I've been writing down some autobiographical experiences from my childhood. Instructive, to say the least. It's been funny, revealing, and sometimes enlightening to construct a narrative out of what I remember of my early life. It's not that I've never thought about most of these memories, but writing them down in chronological order highlights certain events in way that I hadn't previously considered. Very odd to see current patterns of tastes, perspective and behavior stemming from things that happened forty years ago.

(If you're anything like me, you wonder how close to real events your memories are.  Remembering seems to be a creative act, more creative for some than others.)

Tomorrow starts another chemotherapy session. Thinking over the last week, I'm surprised how "normal" I feel lately (like, say, at least 90% of my old self). The only thing really bothering me in the sensation in my hands when they're cold, and that's largely avoidable.

I owe a few e-mail responses. Apologies, but I got sidetracked by writing yesterday. Promise to get back to people in the next day or two.