I am not a stranger to recovery, or enforced bed rest. I do not like it, but I understand that fighting it is counterproductive. If I want to heal, I have to play along.
(my family is here to enforce this. Nobody wants a repeat of the mono-that-become-double-pneumonia, although in my defense I was 16 at the time)
I know that painkillers are my allies in this, but they are very much not my friends. I do not enjoy the haze they cast over my thinking, and I resent being tied to their presence (if I am even half an hour late with the next dose, the pain stomps back in like a toddler in rain boots seeing a puddle).
Even with the drugs, there are times when my brain is clear and focused, and I use it as best I can, jotting down words and making decisions, keeping the work moving forward. And then there are the times when the world swings clock-wise and smears in pretty shades of purple and blue, and I think, “I will use this in a story someday…but not today.”
Someday will come.
On the plus side, the cats have figured out that they can cuddle, so long as they avoid my midsection. Now if they could remember that even at 3am when they decide to shift position…..
