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## MY WORLD IS A ZOO
It is. Really. If you only knew. . . .

All creatures, strange and unexpected--those are the ones that find me. On my body, I bear the evidence of long-ago ferret bites, bear bites, raccoon bites, snake bites, bird bites, horse bites, and one good groundhog chomp. This isn't even counting the times I've been nipped by domestic dogs and cats. I've always worked around animals, including a few stints for veterinarians and one stretch at an exotic animal park. I'm no stranger to broken skin and blood loss.

What does it take to knock me flat on my butt? One tiny scratch from one tiny puppy paw. I sit here looking at the scar on my hand from a through-and-through black bear bite I suffered way back in the nineties. Yes, it was a cub. But dang. . .he bit clean through my hand. I applied pressure, antiseptic, and a gauze bandage. Within days I was good to go. Then I look at my leg, at the itty bitty superficial scratch that made me so sick I couldn't get out of bed for a couple days, and I marvel at the irony. A puppy. A cute, cuddly, sweet little puppy--and no doubt a whole army of staph germs under his teensy weensy front claw. <div class="pull-right">https://steemitimages.com/DQmSDkJ5oA7wDipNDd9vot1Ko5zMy8xYEXysj8iF8QMW1iq/image.png
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The scratch is healing now. I paid attention to the alarm signals from my body, got plenty of rest, and started a round of antibiotics. I know an infection when I see one. And I was definitely seeing one--red, inflamed skin around the scratch packing plenty of heat, and redness creeping around to other parts of my leg, as well. One whole side of my calf and foot was bright red. I was having visions of MRSA, necrotizing fasciitis, amputations, sepsis, funerals. . .so yeah. I took it seriously.

But that's not the point of this ramble. Long story short--it appears that I have weathered my brush with staph infection without loss of life or limb. Yay, me. However, it has definitely affected my productivity. I've been AWOL from the Writers'  Block for a while now, popping in occasionally to make sure I don't get forgotten, but engaging only sporadically. I've done a lot more sleeping lately than writing. 

Yet every time I checked in to say hello, I saw a machine of a workshop ticking along without a hitch, where everyone was doing everything just exactly right, where nobody was fighting, nobody was taking advantage of anyone else, and nobody was on a quest for power. I saw lots of laughter, much silliness and high spirits all around, but I also saw hard work and dedication. And I realized that even if I had succumbed to systemic staph infection and died and been eaten by dogs, the legacy of the old Fiction Workshop would survive me. The Writers' Block community is so strong, so viable and worthwhile that it simply does not need me to function. And folks, that's the best sign of all that you've left an indelible mark on the world, and that the work you've done in this life is enduring and meaningful.

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I'm better today than I was yesterday. I still get tired easily, and need lots of sleep. But one thing really became apparent to me during these past couple weeks, as I battled first the flu, then respiratory issues related to lupus combined with the flu, then this awful bacterial infection: if you spend enough time building the right team, encouraging the right people, and focusing on the right things, you're afforded the luxury of taking some down-time and still coming back to a game that's even stronger than it was when you collapsed on the field. Folks, the Writers' Block is the real deal. The folks running it are rock-solid. The mods in each workshop, the admins, the Witnesses, and the Fictioneers--it just doesn't get any better than this. This is the quality of organization that can change the world. 

To all of you at the Block who've held things together in my sort-of-absence: THANK YOU. Every one of you is indispensable. And I love you all like family.

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