There Is No Spoon

I am writing from the beautiful island of St. Maarten right now. 

I have little to report, except that the sun's rays down here have somehow found a way to turn. I spent the morning on the beach cowering underneath an umbrella which completely covered every inch of my skin. When I came inside, despite my best efforts, my shoulders and left arm, for some reason, were a bright, rosy pink, which is even now settling into an unabashed red. 

Congratulations, my old foe, you have bested me yet again.