...that difficulties present themselves in a city where protracted discussion of amateur-level skiing and hiking passes for culture.
And this, perhaps, is what no one but other chronically ill or injured individuals understand: when every fiber of your being is begging to leave and yearning to belong, even for a tiny while, in your surroundings, you are stuck. And on your very good days, you are able to take a short walk and fold your laundry and write a bit.
It is my fondest hope that I return to the level of health and writerly output I was able to sustain from the end of '04 to the end of '07 because with all the words at my disposal, I cannot adequately convey how much I miss both.
And I fear that if I must engage in one more palid conversation about kayaking, I will swallow every pill in the house.
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