I've spent the evening in Mâvarin, editing Chapter Four of Heirs. My revisions are going well, but I'm getting sleepy - which is understandable, because it took me three tries to get to bed last night. If I don't fall asleep right away, I can easily lie awake for 45 minutes or longer, and the rest of the night ends up seeming like no more than a doze. It's better to get up, take care of whatever is bothering me, and then try again - and yet again, if necessary. But at some point my body has to let me sleep, and I'm hoping that my brain isn't lying to me right now about its willingness to be unconscious.
The assistant to Tuffy's oncologist called today about an appointment we made a few months ago for tomorrow. We just had Tuffy in there a few weeks ago, so I canceled the one for tomorrow. Short of spending another couple thousand dollars on her, this time for tests, there isn't much to be done that we're not already doing. John is trying to establish the right dose of medication for her, based on the vet's advice. Frankly, she's not doing as well as she was a week ago.