<html><head></head><body style="word-wrap: break-word; -webkit-nbsp-mode: space; -webkit-line-break: after-white-space; "><!--StartFragment--><div style="margin-top: 0.1pt; margin-right: 0in; margin-bottom: 0.1pt; margin-left: 0in; "><span style="font-size:12.0pt;font-family:"Bookman Old Style";color:black">I’m still
creeping around like someone who’s been Roto-Rootered through the belly, but
the plumbing is waking up and finally the pain is down to where I can
concentrate on something besides being sick. Wrote a couple of pages on the
novel today after spending some time reading through and amending it here and
there. Great relief. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-top: 0.1pt; margin-right: 0in; margin-bottom: 0.1pt; margin-left: 0in; "><o:p> </o:p></div><div style="margin-top: 0.1pt; margin-right: 0in; margin-bottom: 0.1pt; margin-left: 0in; "><span style="font-size:12.0pt;font-family:"Bookman Old Style";color:black">Picked up
the guitar and found it curiously easy to play – the powerful pain drugs
mitigating my joints’ arthritis – but my voice belongs in a bad cartoon. </span></div><div style="margin-top: 0.1pt; margin-right: 0in; margin-bottom: 0.1pt; margin-left: 0in; "><span style="font-size:12.0pt;font-family:"Bookman Old Style";color:black"><br>
Maybe it’s time for a po-mo Bob Dylan. Joe</span></div>
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