I go under the knife on February 11th; or rather they'll make a few holes in my right knee and blow it up like a balloon before doing what needs to be done. The surgeon didn't like the read of my MRI by Radiology. He said it was "under read." He's fairly certain there's a meniscal tear on the left side, but there is also the chance I'm dealing with a lot of bone on bone damage, too. He said that when he gets in, if there's too much damage (i.e., nothing he can repair to make my knee better for the next five years), he'll simply back out and close up. My next stop will be a new knee. So, I get a new knee now or in five years. That's okay because I've had bad knees all my life and I'm old enough to get new ones since artificial knees don't last as long as real ones.

The depression is lessening a teensy bit. I don't think I've gotten a firm hold on the ladder just yet, but I know that it's all uphill from here on out. I haven't called my old counselor, hoping to get in to see the psych first, but maybe I should touch bases with her just to get a boost up onto the ladder.

This afternoon I worked a tiny bit on Chapter 18. I think I was able to write seven lines before exhausting the creative flow.

The as yet untitled short story I've started (and plan to submit to Glimmer Train in their Unpublished Writers contest) now has a cast (3 primary characters, 5 secondary). This is the synopsis: Frank Meyers is the sole family representative to attend his youngest son Mike