I wish there were more hours in the day so that I could read. Well, non-medical texts, that is. Although it'd be nice for some extra time to crank through those as well.
I miss the mountains, I miss my nieces and nephews, and I miss reading.
My reading time is now after Tobie falls asleep, headlamp on, buried under the covers. It's a bit like summer-camp or secret reading after your parents told you to go to sleep. But it's the only time that I don't feel guilty doing it.
I just started "Anatomy of an Illness" by Norman Cousins, and I am so excited about it. Almost as excited as I am about getting to "William Osler, A Life in Medicine" by Bliss, which is also burning a hole on my nightstand.
The intro to the Cousins book contained the famous quote by Francis Peabody, "The secret of the care of the patient is in caring for the patient".
A simple, and very true fact.
I sense many late(r) nights ahead.