Still here. Still getting things done. By 'things' I mean sitting around in a daze, doing little exercises, drinking coffee, and periodically taking my walker for walks around the apartment. This, they tell me, is the key to recovery.

Last night I drank several Guinness. They did not tell me that Guinness drinking is the other key to recovery, since, to judge from the unpleasant texture of my guts today, it isn't. That was all part of showing my body who's boss around here.

It turns out that my body is who's boss around here. I'm thinking of forming a union of the soul to stand up to my fatcat of a body. Strike vote tomorrow! Who's with me?