My husband takes the kids grocery shopping. Yesterday, my daughter ran a washing machine and today I fold the laundry, seated at the kitchen table. I crave a shower but I need help to step in the stall so I wait for my husband to be home.
I finish Rescue from Anita Shreve, one of my favorite writers for adults. Her last book is a little disappointing, too predictable. Meanwhile, I take advantage of my immobility to revise my latest manuscript. It’s a novel for YA and I hope to submit it soon.
My husband and the kids come home and put the groceries away in the fridge and pantry. This is one of the very few times I don’t do it myself and I hate it.
Pain and discomfort would make any active person crazy. I’ve been acting fine until the end of the weekend. Frustration and cabin fever have boiled inside me for a couple of days now and as Sunday ends, I turn into an impatient and emotional wreck.
I miss my body. My independence and my work. Funny how a house can turn upside down when a woman gets ill or injured.
