HornedToad of Zenith

My imaginary con came back to earth with a thud, just like a real one, when I hied off for my mammogram first thing this morning. I had a good technician this time, who crushed me in an expeditious and effective fashion so it was just kind of uncomfortable, rather than excruciating as it is when the bad one is on duty. I was very happy when she said the radiologist says everything is fine and I don't have to come back for a year, instead of the six-month schedule I was on for the last year and a half. I always believed that the bit they were concerned about was an artifact of the diagnostic process, and I'm glad that turned out to be true.

I didn't go for a walk or anything today, because it was 90 degrees out, and humid like a wet army blanket. I stayed inside, read a chunk of the Tiptree bio--mindboggling combo of privilege and misery--and wrote 1000 words. I always feel better when words arrive on the page, however inadequate they may be. I bookmarked a couple of quotes from the Tiptree book, because they seemed eerily a propos to today's situation, but decided not to quote them right now. It's just too damn depressing. It takes so long for things to change . . . for the better, anyway. It seems easy to make them worse!