As you have undoubtedly noticed, I'm not quite back to my previous, daily writing routine. In fact virtually all of my erstwhile routines have been almost comically reordered. Since my recent hospitalization for an emergency colectomy, my nightly hours of fitful slumber have been reduced to three, which, though likely inadequate to avoid Trump-like incoherence of sleep deprivation, so far seem enough to keep me going for the day's remaining 21. I typically rise (rather, sit up in bed) and commence newspaper reading at 1:00 or 2:00 a.m., followed by scratching out a few online thoughts on whatever topic intrigued me. Much of my day's remainder is consumed with post-surgical chores -- what seem like blizzards of medications, injections, re-bandaging, the unsteady reintroduction of a normal diet, and, above all, adapting to ileostomy-maintenance (I'm in good company; both President Eisenhower and Speaker of the House Tip O'Neill had to do the same). In short, in my bachelor recuperation, my personal ancien régime has become radically discombobulated. My more disposable hours are spent -- again, in bed -- reading literary criticism, Shakespeare, Montaigne, American Civil War history and, for too-obvious reasons, whatever I can find on German political history, 1932-33. On the latter and only the latter, post-surgical narcotics help immensely. Indeed, perhaps I'll just nestle in a drug-induced haze for the next four years. At any rate, I'm somewhat glacially returning to normal activities -- and whenever I get there in full flower, you'll know it, which, for now, is what I wanted you to know. Since many of you are financial supporters of this site, I thought you deserved to know that much.