We're still in the hospital, unfortunately. J's white-blood-cell count, which was very high, has come down slightly but doesn't warrant taking him off the IV antibiotics. Shortly he's headed off for another CAT scan of his throat so that the doctor can get a better idea of the status of the abscesses. Best-case scenario is that they will be ready to be lanced with a scalpel. So you can see that we are not overflowing with joyous anticipation. Nonetheless, J's wit remains sharp, though he's starting to fade into dull melancholy this afternoon. Being in the hospital is so tedious, yet it's also impossible to concentrate on getting anything else done. In theory, I should have been able to post this note to you this morning, have edited a chapter of manuscript, answered a lot of correspondence, and read a few hard books. In actuality I felt proud to have done an hour's worth of billable work, and the only book I've managed to read is P. G. Wodehouse. Then I sent a letter full of typos to the Frost Place faculty, went shopping at Rite-Aid, and longed forlornly for a hot shower.

I am sure we'll be spending at least another night here, probably two, which is just as well since Lewiston is forecast to get a foot of snow tonight.