Oblivious to such ills, Bobo, your blue-ribbon hamster, has taken to the treadmill to chase his proverbial tail. At least it keeps him in shape.
Still too weak to struggle to my feet, I tell myself Iím getting better, even if I have lost a step. Iíd write myself a get-well card if I had an iota of inspiration. Then up pops this bit of graffiti I saw last week, felt-tipped to the mirror over a menís room urinal: The weatherís here&emdash;wish you were beautiful.
Please come back.
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